X3: Days of the Phoenix
by plutospawn
Summary: With the very future of the world threatened the XMen will have to fight the bigotry aimed at them as well as their own prejudices. And just who is this girl who literally falls into Scott's lap?
1. Farewells and Introductions

X3: Days of the Phoenix

Author's notes: I became so anxious waiting for X3 to come out, I finally broke down and started to write it. In homage to the original comic books, I've borrowed heavily for the storyline and hope to merge a few classic X-Men tales while suiting them for the MovieVerse. I have also taken several liberties with Rachel (I actually merged her and Nathan's character) partly because I'm not very familiar with her. If I go way too OOC with her, don't be afraid to let me know. Thanks!

* * *

Chapter 1 Farewells and Introductions:

"How did the interview go, Ms. Tilby?" Henry McCoy asked.

Patricia Tilby wrapped her arm around his and rested her cheek against his shoulder. "I think it went great, Mr. McCoy. I was able to get all the dirt on Graydon Creed. Now if I could just get Robert Kelly to sit down with me I'd have all the important presidential hopefuls—"

Hank stopped abruptly in the parking lot. He shot the woman snuggling into the arm of his navy wool jacket a sidelong glance as his glasses shifted down his nose. He cleared his throat.

"What?" she asked. Her wine stained lips crooked into a frown.

"_Mr_. McCoy?" He raised an eyebrow.

Trish laughed and shoved him playfully. "How could I forget? _Dr_. McCoy, you are such a monkey!"

"Monkey?" Hank placed a hand over his heart, wounded. "Tiger, yes, or perhaps stallion, but monkey? My lady, you have grievously injured my ego."

Trish rolled her eyes, but couldn't scowl over her smile. She stood on tip-toes and planted a kiss on his cheek. "If you ask really nicely," she murmured. "I might let you take me out for coffee tonight."

Hank reached up and tucked a lock of her sleek black hair behind her ears. "I'll have to take a rain check on the coffee." He gave her an impish grin. "I've already made reservations for two at a rather expensive sushi place. If you're interested."

Trish kissed his other cheek in reply.

"Will you wear that dress?" Hank requested.

"Don't push your luck." She smirked. "Now, walk me to my car."

"Absolutely."

The two walked hand in hand through the parking lot until they located Trish's car. As she sat in the driver's seat of the red Honda Prelude, Hank bent forward and gave her a brisk kiss on the lips.

"I'll pick you up at 7:00?" he asked.

"That'll be fine." She shot him a coy smile. "See you later,_ tiger_."

Hank shut the car door and watched his girlfriend drive off. With a quick glance at his watch, he strolled out of the parking lot, whistling.

* * *

Scott Summers stuffed the last of his bags in the trunk of his car. With the Professor and a handful of the current students watching him as he prepared to leave Charles Xavier's School for Gifted Youngsters, he felt like he was supposed to put on a show. Instead, he concentrated on shutting the trunk door.

Scott walked towards the driver's side of the car and looked back at the mansion hesitantly. He adjusted his ruby quartz glasses more out of habit than necessity. He had spent so many years of his young life calling the mansion before him "home" and now he had to say goodbye. It was strange to think that one horrible memory could sour the fond recollections he had of living within the relative safety of 1407 Graymalkin Lane.

It was time to move on. There was nothing left for the man once known as "Cyclops." The group standing before him shuffled forward haphazardly to make their reluctant farewells. The young girl known only as Rogue was one of the first that crept forward. She dry washed her gloved hands nervously before pinning them behind her back.

"Hey." she mumbled. "Ah hear that you're goin' to a Dazzler concert."

As Scott looked at her, the girl's ears turned pink. At the height of her insecure teenage years, Rogue's absorption ability had kicked in. Not being able to touch anyone without sucking the life from them had transformed the already awkward teen to a societal recluse.

"That's the plan." he replied.

"Would ya mind gettin' me an autograph, if you could?" she requested. Her brown eyes glittered with a shy hope.

"Sure thing." Scott promised.

Rogue beamed as she brushed her prematurely gray streak of hair from her face. She scampered off to join her boyfriend, Bobby Drake and other classmates.

Professor Xavier rolled over to Scott next. The irony of the world's strongest mind being trapped in such a weak body had always intrigued Scott, but at that moment it made him bitter. Life wasn't fair.

"Scott, you do realize that if you ever need anything, we'll be here for you." The older man said.

"Of course."

"You'll always be welcome here." Professor Xavier continued. "You know, with Ororo in Cairo on business, the school staff is rather limited. I may have to give Logan a teaching position."

Scott forced a smile to his lips. "Are you trying to convince me to stay, Professor?"

Charles Xavier shook his head. "Not at all. You need this vacation."

"Thank you." Scott murmured.

Nobody else made a move. Scott had expected as much. The children were already talking quietly amongst themselves. He had already made peace with Logan, who was leaned against the brick building fingering a cigar, so they had nothing else to discuss.

Scott climbed into his car, took a deep breath and turned the key in the ignition. He pulled out of Xavier's property and headed west on Graymalkin Lane towards Titicus Road. From there he'd be able to reach NY-116 and get out of Westchester once and for all.

He'd be generous and get Dazzler's autograph for Rogue, if he bothered to go to the pop sensation's concert. Scott had the sinking feeling that being so close to LaGuardia Airport in Queens he'd be in no mood to see the singing tartlet. He'd probably board the first plane out of New York to escape his former life.

At a red light he flipped on the radio to try to drown out his own morose thoughts.

"The upcoming presidential election has taken a surprising turn, hasn't it?" radio personality, Andre Merito boomed from the speakers. "Who would've thought that mutant rights would take center stage? Presidential hopeful, Graydon Creed is an avid supporter of the Mutant Registration Act which he says is for the safety of humans and mutants alike. Senator Robert Kelly, however—"

Scott turned the radio off. The one thing he didn't need at that moment was to listen to nonsense about the mutant problem, or as Andre Merito so eloquently put it, "mutant rights." Besides, the radio couldn't shut out his thoughts, it merely made them scream louder in his head to compete with the outside racket.

The light turned green, but there weren't any cars behind him so Scott took a moment to try and gather his jumbled thoughts. Sure, they had a nice memorial service for her, Christ, he couldn't even say her name anymore, but what was supposed to happen afterwards? Were they supposed to push her from their minds and move on like nothing happened? He couldn't do it. Especially if he was expected to don that black leather uniform once again and lead other people to their possible deaths.

Professor Xavier understood. He smiled and offered no argument. He even fixed the ignition in Scott's car after Logan, Wolverine, whatever the man wanted to call himself hotwired it with an adamantium claw.

Scott looked up at the street light. It was red again. He shook his head and chuckled to himself bitterly.

Suddenly, a brilliant flash of red and orange exploded in front of him. Scott was too caught off guard to offer anything more than a gasp as he covered his face. The front of his car lurched under the weight of a body crashing headlong into it.

Scott threw open his car door and rushed out. The hood of his car was dented where the girl had hit it. She had to have been a mutant; that was the only explanation for the colorful blast. He had to act quickly, otherwise a crowd might form and who knew then what would happen to her or him. Buzzed red hair was the only thing he could see as she was a crumpled heap, facedown on the ground before him. The girl was very still.

He rolled her over and found himself face to face with the scarred and tattooed visage of a child that couldn't have been more than twenty. A pair of vacant pale brown eyes stared out at nothing. Scott closed her eyes with his first and middle fingers and checked for a pulse. It was faint, but existent.

"So much for the Dazzler concert." he muttered as he gathered the injured girl into his arms.


	2. Change of Plans

Chapter 2 Change of Plans:

            "Have I told you how absolutely stunning you look tonight?" Hank asked.

            Trish smiled coyly.  "I think you used the word 'beautiful' before, but I don't mind." she replied.

            "Then I'll continue."  He ran his fingers through the soft black waves that framed her face.  "You are utterly radiant, the brightest star in the night sky, my Polaris."

            Trish rolled her sapphire eyes.  "You've been reading too many of those love sonnets, haven't you?"

            "Not at all." Hank protested.  "Otherwise, I would have spoken of your dun breasts and reeking breath."

            "Alright, lover boy." Trish laughed.  "I'm going to head to the ladies room to freshen up a bit.  Maybe that will give you the time you need to come up with some better compliments."  She stood up from her chair and began to walk towards the back of the restaurant.

            Hank watched her leave as he mulled over his glass of sake.  That little burgundy and black number she was wearing certainly did show off her assets.  Earlier, Trish had given him a tart apology in regards to not wearing _that_ dress.  Hank didn't mind.  Quite the contrary, he had previously selected from her wardrobe several different _that_ dresses, so he had outsmarted her. 

            Not that outsmarting Trish had ever proved to be very difficult.  She was ambitious, cocky and outspoken and these strengths could just as easily be turned into weaknesses when twisted correctly.  Besides, Hank McCoy was a genius.  It was a small gift in return for having the X-gene as part of his DNA.  He also had superhuman agility as well as enlarged feet and hands.

            He had let his insecurities regarding his oversized appendages slip out in front of Trish once in the form of self-deprecating humor.  She had laughed and made a dry remark in regards to what having "big feet" meant.

            It wasn't Trish's fault.  She didn't know.  She didn't realize that on the other end of the table sat an evolutionary freak.  Hank knew that he would eventually have to tell her.  It was only right.  He had the sinking feeling that any confession would earn him a slap in the face and an angry woman storming out of his life, however, and that made him hesitate.

            The thought of a cure for mutantkind also made him hold his tongue.  He and his assistant, a fellow mutant, Warren Worthington III, had been working for months using samples of their own DNA to develop a formula that could possible nullify the X-gene.  Some of the statistics Hank had discovered during his research had horrified him, but if he could create a stable cure, then the problem would disappear forever.

            Hank sighed and sipped his drink.  The sharp trill of his cell phone jarred him from his thoughts.  He groaned as he shifted in his seat to retrieve it.  Hank could have sworn he had turned it off.

            "Hank McCoy." he answered.

            The voice on the other end shocked him.  Though the caller could not see Hank's steel blue eyes darken with first apprehension and then suspicion, surely he could hear the restrained venom in Henry McCoy's voice.

            "I thought I had made it clear to you that I never wanted to come back." Hank said curtly.  He gave an impatient pause for the caller to make his case.

            "Emergency?"  Hank made no attempt to hide his skepticism.  "What kind of emergency?  …I don't see why you need me, what about Dr. Gr—  …I see."  He sighed.  "I understand.  I'll be there as soon as possible."

            When he glanced up, Trish was back from the restrooms.  Hank shut his cell phone and put it back in his pants pocket.

            "What was that all about?" she asked.

            "I'm sorry, Trish."  Hank pulled out his wallet and began to thumb through his cash.  "I have to leave."

            "Leave?"  Trish's brows furrowed and her lower lip jutted out, irritated.  "But we had plans."

            "I know and I'll make it up to you, I promise."  He threw the cost of the meal and generous tip down on the table.  "I just got an urgent call.  Sometimes I hate being a doctor."

            "I suppose you'll call me later." she muttered.  She began to smooth the front of her skirt with angry jerks of her hand.

            "If it's not too late." he agreed.

            Hank kissed Trish's shoulder before he hurried towards the door.  Trish watched him leave and ground her teeth.

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            "Now, those in opposition of the Mutant Registration Act claim that it would be treating innocent citizens as if they were felons."  Trish Tilby gave what could only be described as a rabidly warm smile.  "What do you have to say in regards to that?"

            Graydon Creed laughed.  "Anything is bad if taken to an extreme."  He smiled and revealed that his polished teeth were a shade too white.  "What these fanatics don't realize is how the Mutant Registration Act is designed to actually protect mutantkind."

            "Protect mutantkind?" Trish questioned.

            "Absolutely." Graydon affirmed.  "By registering their special abilities it gives the government the opportunity to develop programs to aid its citizens to deal with these gifts."

            "What types of programs are you proposing?" she asked.

            He swept a hand through his short brown hair.  "Some humans fear that mutants are dangerous." Graydon explained.  "Sometimes they are correct.  But these select mutants are no more a danger to the human population than they are to themselves.  Have you heard of the story about a young man who accidentally blew off the lower portion of his face when his abilities emerged?  Very tragic.  It's not that he wanted to, rather that he had an immense power and didn't know how to control it."

            "So you'd use the Mutant Registration Act as a way to start programs that would aid in teaching mutants to control their powers?"  Trish's saccharin reporter's smile was firmly in place.

            "That's the—"

            Logan walked in front of the television and turned it off.  "Enough with that crap." he muttered.

            Rogue groaned.  Bobby glowered from his seat on the couch at the feral man.

            "I was watching that!" he protested.  Bobby raked his hand through his sandy blonde hair.

            Logan shrugged.  "And now you're not.  Live with it."

            "What's your problem?" Bobby demanded.  "I wanted to hear what he had to say."

            "Why?"  Logan smirked.  The older man's eccentric hairstyle made Bobby think of devil horns.  "You scared of Graydon Creed?"

            "No."  Bobby's expression darkened.

            "You should be." Logan replied.

            "Will ya'll knock it off?"  Rogue scowled as she hugged herself.

            Logan ignored her as he turned his attentions to the door.  "Someone's coming." he mumbled.

            The broad shouldered man stood in the doorway to the den.  His dark brown hair was neat and he nervously played with his wire-rim glasses.  He cleared his throat.

            "Excuse me," he began.  "I'm here to see Professor Charles Xavier, if I may."

            "That depends." Logan retorted.  "Who are you?"

            The man raised an eyebrow, but didn't shrink back from the Wolverine's challenge.  "My name is Dr. Henry McCoy." he said evenly.  "Professor Xavier requested my immediate arrival in regards to an emergency.  A child let me into the mansion, but instead of speaking, he flooded my mind with pictures for a while."

            "I haven't heard of any emergency." Logan growled.  He placed himself between Hank and the teenagers, prepared to face off against the clean shaven doctor.

            "It's alright, Logan."  Scott entered the den, a haggard look upon his face, a cup of coffee in his hand.  He looked at the doctor.  "It's been a while, Hank."

            "Not as long as I had intended, I can assure you." Hank responded.

            "Scott!" Rogue exclaimed.  "What're you doin' back here?"

            "Change of plans." Scott grumbled.  He turned back to Hank.  "The Professor is waiting for you in the medical bay."

            "Lead the way." Hank sighed.


	3. Not Human

Author's Note: "Liebchen" is German for "darling," or "sweetheart."

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Chapter 3 Not Human:

            "Well, I think she'll live." Dr. McCoy said finally.

            "That's a relief." Kurt Wagner replied in his lilting German accent.  "Did you discover what was wrong with her?"

            "Shock, mostly," Hank murmured to his fuzzy blue assistant.  "coupled with exhaustion and malnutrition.  She should make a full recovery.  Except…"

            "Except?" Kurt asked.  He regarded the doctor with his yellow eyes closely.

            "Her anatomy's a bit off.  It troubles me."  Hank looked at the assistant that he had borrowed from Professor Xavier and bit his tongue.

            Kurt Wagner, known to the Munich circus as the Incredible Nightcrawler, had anything but normal anatomy.  He had the visage of a demon with sharp teeth, only two fingers and a prehensile tail, but the heart of a devote Christian. 

            Hank wracked his brain to try and find an acceptable explanation when he heard angry voices on the other side of the door.  Relieved at the interruption, he turned his ear to the argument building outside.

            "I don't like it." Logan hissed.

            "I suppose you think that I should have just left her by the side of the road." Scott snarled.

            "Don't you think it's a little convenient that this kid falls right into your arms?" Logan asked, furiously.

            "That's enough!" Professor Xavier intervened.  "I'll not have you two at each other's throats.  The child was injured and that's all we need to know until she wakes."

            "You're awfully trusting, Chuck." Logan muttered.  He crossed his arms and shook his head.

            "And you're pretty suspicious for no reason, Logan." Scott retorted.

            "I got my reasons." Logan growled.

            "I would appreciate it if you shared them." Professor Xavier said calmly.

            "It's her smell."  Logan jerked an angry finger at his nose.  "Something's not right.  She smells familiar and at the same time, not human.  She's not right."

            "Are you trying to say she's some sort of machine?" Scott asked.  He didn't bother hiding his skepticism.  "Give me a break."

            "She's wrong." Logan insisted.  "She don't smell human."

            "That's because she's not." Hank explained as he walked into the hallway.  "Well, not entirely."

            "What?" Scott demanded.

            Logan gave a snide smirk.

            "Do you care to elaborate, Dr. McCoy?" Professor Xavier asked.

            "She's missing an arm," Hank replied.  "and a leg, both on the left side.  In their place are prosthetics.  But the technology is far beyond anything that I've ever seen.  It's rather intriguing."

            "That's impossible." Scott spluttered.  "I held her in my arms and carried her in here.  There's no way that she's part machine.  I would have known."

            "It's true."  Hank shrugged.  "But the sheer complexity of the technology…  It baffles me."

            "Aside from her bizarre prosthetics," Professor Xavier interrupted.  "will the child be alright?"

            "Yes."  Hank nodded.  "I've got her hooked up to an I.V., but nothing serious."

            "Then we'll wait for her to wake."  Professor Xavier shot both Scott and Logan with a hard look.  "I'm sure that no one will try to interrogate her."

            Logan scowled.  Scott glared at Logan.

            "Professor." Hank called out.

            Professor Xavier turned to him.  "Yes?"

            "I took the liberty of calling my personal assistant, Warren Worthington." Hank said.  "If I may, I would like to observe this girl for a while.  I could set up my lab and continue my old research here if you will allow it."

            Professor Xavier smiled.  "You are always welcome here, Henry."

            "Thank you." Hank stiffly answered.

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            In the medical bay, Kurt watched the unconscious girl closely.  She hadn't moved since Scott had brought her into the mansion, but Dr. McCoy had assured Kurt that she would live.

            Scars and tattoos marred her otherwise pretty face, yet the rest of her frail body was untouched.  Peculiar, yet placed obviously on purpose.  Perhaps the meaning of such markings was akin to the angelic glyphs he had worked into his own skin.

            Kurt let a finger gently touch one of her scars.  He traced the winding pink flesh until it twisted into the indigo ink of one of the tattoos. 

            "Rest easy, liebchen." he whispered.  "You are safe."

            The girl sighed and a smile briefly crossed her lips.

            She was coming to.  Kurt pulled a stool over by the cot to wait.  It dawned on him that waking up to his face might terrify her, so he turned his head away.

            "Elf." she murmured and placed her warm hand on his.

            Her friendly gesture made him gasp and draw back in shock.  Perhaps she wasn't completely coherent yet.  Kurt decided that it must have been a mistake on her part.

            "I will get the doctor, little one." he said softly.  "You will be well taken care of."

            A groan escaped the girl.  "Where am I?" she asked.

            "Safe." Kurt assured her.

            She laughed to herself.  "Safe." she muttered.  "You must be crazy.  Safe!  Wait…"

            She shimmied up to a sitting position in the cot.  Her brown eyes widened as she absorbed her surroundings.  The rise and fall of her chest quickened.  "Where am I?" she repeated.

            "Westchester County, Salem Center." Kurt replied.  "Charles Xavier's School for the Gifted Youngsters to be exact."

            "Charles Xavier?"  Her jaw seemed to be working futilely to form words.  "This can't be."

            She glanced down at herself, took in that she was wearing a hospital gown.  Her hand patted the coarse linen that covered the cot she was on.  She shook her head.

            "Are you alright, liebchen?"  Kurt's brows furrowed with concern.  "I can call for the doctor."

            "This is all wrong." she stammered.  She faced Kurt with a hard look.  "What year is this?"

            "I am going to call the doctor." Kurt replied.

            "I don't need a doctor." the girl snapped.

            She jerked the I.V. needle from her arm and stumbled out of the cot.  "What I need is to know what year this is." she demanded.

            "Please, calm down." Kurt pleaded.  "You're still weak."

            "Weak?"  She looked at him abruptly.  "Oh no.  Mirror.  I need a mirror."

            She began to rummage through a nearby tray of doctor's instruments.  Not able to find what she wanted she pulled out a drawer and dumped it on the cot.  She plucked a laryngeal mirror from the heap of tools and held it in front of herself.

            She gasped when she saw the tattoos and scars that laced her face.  She dropped the mirror and swiped a hand over her visage.  When her hand fell to her side the markings on her face had vanished.

            "How did you?" Kurt's jaw dropped.

            "No time." the girl insisted.  "Where are my clothes?"

            "All you had were some tattered leggings and a bodysuit." Kurt murmured.

            She shrugged.  "Be that as it may, I'm sure my clothes are slightly more fashionable than what I've got on now."  She motioned to the hospital gown covering her boney frame.

            "You are in no condition to go running amuck, child." Kurt warned.

            She snorted.  "I'll be the judge of that."  Her limbs trembled as she searched through the cabinets. 

            Kurt teleported close to her and firmly gripped the girl's shoulders.  "You need more rest." he said simply.

            "I'm fine." she insisted.

            She pushed Kurt away, only to pitch forward herself.  He caught her in his arms and used his tail to support his body while he regained his footing.

            "You are not fine."  His yellow eyes met with her brown. 

            She chuckled.  "Now, this is only hypothetical mind you," she said.  "but if I were to say, hang out here for a little while, would that be okay?"

            "You would be welcome with open arms."  Kurt smiled.

            "Maybe I'll just stick around for a bit then." she muttered.

            "I'm glad." Kurt replied.  "My name is Kurt Wagner."

            She offered a hesitant smile.  "I'm Rachel."


	4. Enigma

Author's Note:  "Gern geschehen" is German for "you're welcome."  (I don't speak German, I'm using an English to German dictionary so if anyone fluent in German sees me use something out of context, let me know.)

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Chapter 4 Enigma:

            "Dr. McCoy, I'm sorry that I'm late."  Warren Worthington hurried into the medical bay.  His fine leather jacket was unceremoniously dumped in a nearby chair.  "I came as soon as possible."

            "I'm sure you did." Hank murmured.  The doctor was too busy examining his patient to give his assistant a second glance.

            Warren stopped in his tracks.  A lock of blonde hair fell across his forehead.  "The girl's awake."

            "Her name is Rachel." Hank said.  "And yes, she's awake and doing quite nicely actually."

            "If I'm doing so nicely, why can't I just leave?" Rachel muttered.  She shifted her weight onto her right foot, the oversized sweatshirt she was wearing seemed to engulf her entire shape.

            Hank ignored her.

            "I don't understand."  Warren brushed the strand of hair away from his face.  "She looks perfectly healthy.  Why did you sound so urgent when you called?"

            "Rachel is quite the enigma." Hank muttered.

            Rachel rolled her eyes.

            "Didn't you say when you called that she had several strange markings on her face?" Warren asked.

            "She did." Hank replied.

            "They're not important."  Rachel's brows furrowed.  "I'd appreciate it if you stopped mentioning them."

            "So you say."  Warren's blue eyes looked at her critically.  "But how did you make them disappear?"

            "What makes you think I made them disappear?" she snapped.  "Maybe I made them appear."

            "You created facial markings for no apparent reason and maintained them while you were unconscious?"  Warren raised an eyebrow.

            Rachel glared at him.

            "The little mystery surrounding Rachel's facial tattoos can be ignored for the moment." Hank cut in gently.  "She is interesting with or without them."

            "You better take your pictures and blood samples and whatever else you want while you can." she warned.  "As soon as I get better, I'm getting out of here."

            "I'm sure you are." Hank sighed.  "Stick out your tongue, please."

            Rachel groaned, but complied.  The pink, glistening muscle donned a plain metal stud.  Warren looked far from impressed.

            "You wanted to show me a girl's body piercing?" he asked.

            "If you're going to be so negative, I'm going to have to ask you to shush." Hank replied.  "Rachel, do you mind if I manhandle your tongue?"

            Any comment that Rachel intended to give was muffled by Hank McCoy's gloved fingers gripping her tongue.  He tugged at the stud and held a magnifying glass over it.

            "Look at it closely, Warren." Hank instructed.  "Have you ever seen technology like that?"

            "What does it do?" Warren wondered.

            Hank looked up at his assistant and hesitated.  "I don't know." he said.  "I'd like to take it out and apart to examine it further, but I'm afraid that Rachel might need it for whatever it does."

            Rachel shot the doctor an irritated look and brushed his hand off of her tongue.  She cleared her throat loudly.

            "As much as I hate to interrupt you two," she said.  "I'd like to make sure that you realize I'm a person and not a guinea pig."

            Color blossomed in Warren's ears.  Hank laughed nervously.

            "I understand that, and that's why I wanted to confer with my assistant." Hank explained.  "I'd like to be able to comprehend the complexity of the technology in your possession, but the easiest way to do that would be to take it out and dissect it."

            Rachel's eyes narrowed and her lower lip jutted out.  She crossed her arms tightly.

            "I wasn't suggesting that was what I planned to do." Hank exclaimed.  "I'm trying to decide on the best course of action that would let me examine your technology while leaving it both intact and connected to your body."

            "That's better."  The wary expression didn't leave her face.

            The door opened and Kurt walked in, a fast food bag in his hands.  He headed to the counter and unloaded the contents of the bag.

            "Rachel looked like she could use a meal." Kurt explained.

            "Thanks, elf."  Rachel grinned.  She joined him at the counter and grabbed the burger he offered.

            Hank immediately plucked it from her hands.  He shook his head at her scowl.

            "Not yet, missy."  Hank pushed his glasses back up his nose.  "If you cram that down your throat like I suspect you want to, your body will probably end up rejecting it.  Start with the milkshake and we'll work up from there, okay?"

            Rachel gave a defiant snort, but graciously accepted the milkshake.  Her cheeks seemed to cave in as she furiously sucked on the straw.  Hank gave Kurt a sidelong glance as the other man hesitated in the room.

            "You look like you want to say something." Warren said.

            "Oh."  Kurt grinned sheepishly.  "The professor was hoping to meet with Rachel now that she's up.  He wanted to show her around the school and introduce her to some of the other students."

            "Professor Xavier wants to meet me?"  A peculiar smile came to Rachel's face.  The girl seemed almost star-struck.

            "It appears so." Hank grumbled.  "Go ahead and see the professor."

            "Dr. McCoy!" Warren protested.  "We still need to examine her—"

            "First we need to figure out how we're going to examine her." Hank cut in firmly.  "She doesn't need to be here while we discuss the options.   Besides, I've got some X-Rays that I'd like your opinion on."

            "Follow me." Kurt requested.

            Rachel nodded.  He led her out of the medical bay and through the winding hallways of Charles Xavier's mansion.  The hardwood floors were covered with a fine Oriental carpet that Rachel's socked feet thudded along lightly.  She still held her half-finished milkshake protectively in her hands.

            "Elf."  Rachel stopped walking.

            Nightcrawler turned around to face her with a smile.  "Kurt, please."

            "I'm sorry."  She concentrated on flicking the straw to her milkshake.  "Does it upset you that I call you that?"

            "I suppose it's better than 'demon' or 'freak'." he replied.  "Why do you call me that, anyway?"

            Rachel blinked.  "I don't know, I guess." she said finally.  "I don't mean anything by it.  I'll stop if you want me to.  I just wanted to say thanks."

            Kurt cocked his head to one side.  "What are you thanking me for?"

            She laughed.  "Well, not only did you save me, but you stayed by my side until I woke up."

            He shook his head.  "You are mistaken, liebchen." he said.  "I was there when you first opened your eyes, this is true.  But I did not rescue you."

            "Oh."  Rachel blinked.  "If it wasn't you, then who was it?  I highly doubt that the good doctor or his assistant was involved."

            "Scott brought you into the school." Kurt said.

            "Scott?"  Rachel swallowed hard.

            "Yes." Kurt affirmed.  "Scott Summers.  I am sure you will meet him soon."

            "Meet him…"  She smiled warmly.  "Well, thanks for being there when I woke up anyway.  It's always reassuring to see a kind face."

            "Gern geschehen." he replied.  "It was no trouble.  Now, please, we must not keep the professor waiting."

            Kurt continued to walk down the hallway and Rachel shuffled after him.  When they reached Professor Xavier's office, Kurt opened the door and ushered Rachel in.     

            Charles Xavier was seated in his wheelchair behind his desk.  Scott Summers, the school's first student, was in a leather backed chair.  He stood immediately upon seeing Kurt and Rachel.

            "I take it that you're Rachel." Professor Xavier said.

            Rachel nodded.  The hairs on the back of her neck pricked up as she felt a psionic hand swiftly graze over her mind.

            "Rachel what?" the professor asked.

            "Just Rachel." she answered quickly.  She fiercely rubbed the hairs back down on her neck.

            "You are safe here, child." Professor Xavier assured.  "There is no need for the psionic blocks you've erected in your mind."

            "I'll be the judge of that." Rachel answered quietly.

            Professor Xavier gave a warm smile but nodded.  "Of course."  He directed her gaze towards Scott.  "You may remember Scott Summers as he was the one who found you."

            "Yes." she murmured.  Her brown eyes darted over the planes of Scott's face as if she planned to burn them into her memory.  "I remember him."

            "Scott informed me that you appeared to be running away from something." Professor Xavier said.

            "Yeah, I guess so."  Rachel shivered.  She pulled her arms tightly around her waist.

            "If you're in trouble, maybe the X-Men could help you." Scott finally spoke up.

            Rachel's face softened for the man known as Cyclops.  "I don't know if the X-Men could help me just yet.  Or anybody else."  She smiled.  "But thanks for the offer.  And thanks for before."

            "Oh, that."  Scott's ears colored pink.  He cleared his throat.  "It was nothing."

            "I trust that you're aware of this being a school for children such as yourself." Professor Xavier said.

            Rachel nodded.  "I heard."

            "You are welcome to stay and learn as long as you like." Charles Xavier offered.

            "Thank you." she murmured.

            Rachel extended her right hand, her real hand, and shook first Professor Xavier's hand, then Scott's.  After that was over, she immediately snaked her hand behind her back.  She began to rock from the balls of her feet to her heels and she grinned at Kurt impishly.

            "I'm glad that we were finally able to meet."  The professor smiled.  "I would like to speak with Scott privately for a moment, however, so you'll have to excuse me.  Kurt will introduce you to the other students and we'll join you shortly."

            Kurt turned to Rachel and offered her his arm.  She beamed and linked her arm with his.  They strolled out into the corridor.

            "She is a rather interesting child." Professor Xavier mused.

            "What do you mean?" Scott asked.

            "That girl has immense telepathic abilities." Professor Xavier said.  "It's amazing, really."

            "Is she stronger than you?"  Scott's brows furrowed.

            "No."  Charles Xavier seemed to be searching for the correct words.  "Telepathically, I'm the more powerful.  But those psionic shields she erected are far more complex and effective than any I've ever had the need to create."

            "So you think she's had training?" Scott pressed.

            "It's likely." the bald man murmured.  "It's also likely due to the way she seemed to appear out of thin air for you that this child is also multi-talented."


	5. Mac n' Cheese Revelations

Chapter 5 Mac n' Cheese Revelations:

            Rachel and Kurt walked into the kitchen where Bobby, Rogue, Peter, and Logan were hanging out.  Rogue poured the orange cheese packet into a saucepan of macaroni while Bobby cracked a joke from his seat at the table regarding her superb cooking ability.  Peter sat on the far end of the table and quietly scribbled away on his sketchpad while Logan appeared mildly interested, his hand tightly wrapped around the neck of a beer bottle.

            Kurt introduced Rachel to the group before he excused himself.  Rachel waved sheepishly to the others.

            "I'm Bobby."  Despite choosing the name "Iceman," Rachel noticed that Bobby had the ability to melt with a smile.

            His girlfriend, Rogue seemed to pick up on that fact as well.  She lifted the spoon from the saucepan and aimed it at Rachel as if it had the deadly precision of a rapier.

            "Are ya hungry?" Rogue asked.

            Rachel tried to keep her face from seeming too ravenous.  "Yes." she said.  "It smells delicious."

            Bobby laughed.  "It's only mac n' cheese."

            Rachel tugged on her earlobe as she blushed.  "I'm starving.  That stupid doctor wouldn't let me eat earlier."

            "It'll be ready soon." Rogue promised.

            Rachel crept over to Peter and peered over his shoulder.  The aspiring artist's thick fingers were smeared with ink from his Rapidograph pens as he deftly cross-hatched the shadows into his drawing.  Peter had drawn the woman on the page in a style reminiscent of Jack Kirby.  She was clad in a snug leather cat suit, a zipper in the front donned an "X" insignia; her hair was shoulder length and feathered out.

            Perhaps if Peter had had colored pencils or gauche he would have colored the woman's hair a deep red, or her eyes a dark brownish green.  As it was, the boy's talent was enough that there was no mistaking the likeness of the deceased Jean Grey.

            "That's beautiful." Rachel murmured.

            Peter jerked his head up, his black hair looked almost blue beneath the dim kitchen light.  He realized that all eyes were on him and his face turned red.

            "It's nothing." he muttered.  "I was just doodling."

            "I'm Rachel."  She held her hand out to him.

            Peter took it hesitantly, dirtying her hand with ink as he shook it.  "Piotr Nikolievitch Rasputin."  The thick Russian accent that the boy had believed he had left with his family in his home country surfaced briefly for the proper inflections on his given name.

            Her dry, callused fingers seemed to soak up the warmth that his soft palms had to offer.  Peter blushed when he saw the mess he had made of the girl's hand.  Rachel just wiped the ink off on the back of her borrowed pants.

            "Piotr?"  Rachel pronounced the name slowly and awkwardly.

            "Peter.  Please, just call me Peter." he said.

            "Okay, Peter."  Rachel smiled.  "Who is that you're drawing?"

            Peter's piercing blue eyes faltered and the boy hesitated.  "It's no one that you know."

            Rachel laughed.  "Well, I don't know anyone at this school."

            "Her name's Jean." Peter said finally.

            "Jean?"  Rachel shot the hulking teenager a devilish look.  "What would Jean say if she knew that you were drawing big-breasted pictures of her?"

            Peter swallowed hard.  The look he gave to the others would have made a deer in headlights seem calm and collected.  Bobby immediately became fascinated with his hands.  Rogue turned back to the macaroni and cheese.  Logan's face hardened as he nursed his beer.    

            Rachel glanced around the room that was eerily silent.  "What?" she asked.

            "She's dead." Logan said gruffly.

            "What?" Rachel repeated.

            "Jean is dead."  Logan went back to his beer.

            "You're kidding me, right?  There's no way that that's possible."  Rachel's eyes darted from person to person, but no one would look back at her.  "Right?"

            Peter finally shook his head.

            "Oh."  Rachel's voice echoed throughout the kitchen.  "I'm sorry.  I didn't realize."

            "How would you?" Logan snorted.

            Rachel backed away from the table and wrapped her arms tightly around her ribs.  "I guess you have a point." she whispered.

            Rogue cleared her throat.  "The mac n' cheese is ready."

            As the girl placed a potholder on the table she tucked the shock of white hair behind her ear.  She ignored the rest of her dark brown locks.

            Bobby stood up and began to rifle through the cupboards.  After a quick headcount he pulled out bowls.  Peter's attention was once again directed towards his sketchpad.

            Bobby pointed next to Rachel.  "Forks are there." he said.

            Rachel nodded and opened the drawer by her hip.  She pulled three forks out and set them next to the bowls.  Rachel shimmied into a seat next to Peter.  He had already finished with his drawing of Jean and had moved on.

            Rogue served up the macaroni and cheese before she took her place beside Bobby.  Rachel dove into her mac n' cheese immediately.  Rogue bit her lip as she watched the other girl.  The way that Rachel shoveled the food into her mouth reminded Rogue of wolves feeding that she watched on National Geographic once.  Rogue twirled her fork in the neon orange pasta and tried not to giggle.

            "So," Logan said abruptly.  "what do you do?"

            Rachel looked over at the Wolverine and pulled the fork from her mouth slowly.  "Me?" she asked.

            "Yeah, you." Logan retorted.  "What do you do?"

            Rachel straightened her back in her chair.  A few fine lines etched themselves across the corners of her mouth as she seemed to consider the older man's words.  "A lot of things." she said finally.  "Like eat mac n' cheese."

            With that, Rachel stabbed some more macaroni with her fork and crammed it into her open maw.  Logan wasn't impressed.

            "You're a mutant with metal limbs." he urged.

            "You're a mutant with metal bones." she replied.

            Logan's hazel eyes glinted dangerously.  "How would you know?" he asked.

            Peter's dark blue eyes darted over the sketchpad that he had turned into a make-shift shield that guarded him from the animosity between the fiery redhead and brutish man.  Worry marks creased Rogue's forehead.  She reached under the table and grabbed Bobby's hand in her leather covered one.

            "Why don't you leave her alone?" Bobby suggested.

            Logan ignored him.  "You seem to know an awful lot about us for someone who was just dragged in a few hours ago."

            The muscles along Rachel's jaw line were tense.  "You're thick skulled, simple minded and wear your thoughts on your sleeve." she blurted out.  "I'd have to practically walk on eggshells to not accidentally scan your mind."

            Logan raised one of his thick eyebrows.

            "So you're a telepath?" Bobby asked.

            "Yeah."  Rachel shrugged.

            "Anything else?" Logan pressed.

            "I also have some ability with telekinesis."  Rachel shoved the empty bowl away from her.  "Why?"

            "Scott told us that you just sort of appeared on top of his car." Logan replied.

            "So?"  Rachel glared at Logan.

            "We just assumed that you were a teleporter." Bobby cut in.

            "Yeah, well you were wrong."  Rachel stood up and backed out of the kitchen.

            "Logan!" Rogue hissed.

            Logan turned back to his beer.  He scowled when he realized it was empty.  "I still say she smells wrong." he grunted.

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            Rachel hurried away from the kitchen.  Xavier's school seemed so surreal to the girl with its pristine wallpaper and wood paneling.  She twisted her way through the corridors away from all students and faculty away from everything.

            She found an abandoned stairwell at the far end of the mansion.  Rachel plopped herself down on the bottom step and fiercely rubbed her hands over her face.  Despite the psychic mask she presented to onlookers, she could still feel the puckered skin of her scarred face as she raced her fingers over it.

            "This is all wrong." Rachel muttered to herself.

            It didn't make sense.  Everything looked like it should in her memory, but at the same time it was all skewed.

            "What's all wrong?"

            The voice was decidedly masculine, yet not gruff like Logan's.  Startled, Rachel jerked her head up and found herself looking into the face of Scott Summers.

            "Hi." she whispered.

            "Do you mind if I join you?" he asked.

            Rachel tried to shrug casually, but ruined it by smiling.  Scott sat next to her on the stairs.  Even without his X-Men uniform on, Scott still appeared rigid with stiff khaki slacks and a simple blue sweater.

            Scott took his time as he chose his words carefully.  "How have you been adjusting?"

            Rachel let out a bitter chuckle.  "Do I really look so troubled?"

            "Most of us are." Scott admitted.  "It's just that the other students have friends they can turn to.  You're new, so I bet you feel a little lonely."

            "Maybe a little." Rachel said.  "So, is chatting up new kids part of your job here?"

            "I'd like to think that I'd do it anyway." Scott replied.

            "It's okay."  Rachel looked up at him and smiled.  "I like the company."

            "Well, I'm glad."  Scott stretched his legs out over the steps and almost gave the appearance of being relaxed.  "I know what it feels like to be alone and I wouldn't wish that on anyone."

            "Sounds to me like maybe you were the one who needed to talk and not me."  Out of habit, she traced an invisible scar along her cheek.

            "Even 'fearless leaders' need someone to talk to every now and again." said Scott dryly.

            "You say that like it's a burden." Rachel replied.  She cocked her head to one side and considered the man next to her carefully.

            "It's not the talking that's the burden."  He scratched the back of his head through his thick, dark hair.  "It's the things that cause the need to talk."

            "I think I understand."  Rachel nodded.

            "I honestly hope not." Scott said.

            He readjusted his ruby quartz glasses before he stood.  Scott brushed the back of his pants off with his hands and offered Rachel a smile.

            "Well, it's been nice talking to you."  Scott took a few steps away from the stairs.  "I'll see you around the school."

            "Yeah." 

            Rachel waved goodbye at Scott's back as he walked down the hall.


	6. Confession

Chapter 6 Confession:

"Stars and garters!" Henry McCoy jolted upright in his seat, a look of horror on his face.

"What's wrong?" Warren rushed to his side and tried to peer over the doctor's shoulder at his work.

Hank buried his face into an oversized hand. "I forgot to call Trish." he lamented. "I'm doomed."

Warren smirked. "You know, Dr. McCoy, you're a grown man. You're allowed to swear."

"Yes, I'm sure the lady will allow me to do many things: Grovel, plead, beg." Hank sighed. "As long as I'm thoroughly pathetic and humiliated in the process. Tell me, Warren, how does the most sought after bachelor on the East Coast keep the women pleased while also being a brilliant biochemist?"

The golden haired playboy chuckled. "I gave up on being 'brilliant' a long time ago." he replied. "I much prefer the shape of a woman's hip to the shape of a DNA strand."

"Point taken." Hank grumbled. "At any rate, I think it's rather safe to assume that Trish will kill me the next time I see her so we should try to decipher these MRIs."

"It's nothing that I haven't already seen before." Warren replied bitterly.

"As my assistant, I request that you never try to assist me in feeling warm and tingly." The left corner of Hanks mouth twitched up in a smirk. "However, I would like your assistance in hypothesizing as to what it is that let your appendages grow back even after you had them surgically removed."

"I don't know." Warren murmured. "Maybe because it's in my blood, a part of my DNA, they could continue to sprout no matter how many times I have them amputated. What do you think?"

"I think many things, most of which wouldn't interest you." Hank muttered. "But I think we should examine the area directly around your growths first then toy with your DNA if we get no results."

"I'm beginning to think it's useless." Warren sighed. "Besides, aren't you interested in Rachel's limbs now?"

"That I am." Hank stood. He flipped open a book on his desk, examined it, snapped it shut and placed it in a nearby box. "Unfortunately, all my data on Rachel is at Xavier's lab right now. Of course, we should be packing, not letting the marvels of science get the better of us."

"If you say so." Warren placed a folder into the box.

Hank's thick brows furrowed and he opened his mouth to reply. The knock on the door interrupted any comment that he may have had. He raised a finger to Warren to hold his thought. Hank walked to the door and opened it. He came face to face with a livid Trish.

Instantly, the witty biochemist transformed into milquetoast. Hank's feet shuffled on the linoleum floor and his lips trembled in an uncertain smile. Trish's eyes scorched holes into her lover.

"Trish, hi!" Hank had devolved to little more than a gibbering idiot. "I had been meaning to call you, really."

"Dr. McCoy, I was just about to take my lunch break." Warren said. "I'll see you in an hour."

Warren snagged his leather jacket from the coat hook and slipped out the door. Hank shot his assistant a look akin to a wounded man whose comrades just abandoned him to a pack of ravenous wolves.

"You're feeling well, I take it?" Henry McCoy's face was a mask of calm, save for the darting eyes and sweat beading at his brow.

"Four days, Hank?" Trish's hands were firmly propped on her hips. "I could understand not calling the night you abandoned me at the restaurant, but four days? You completely vanished for four entire days. You didn't call me, didn't answer my calls, nothing! I had to go to Senator Kelly's fundraising gala by myself! Where were you?"

"Trish, it was a medical emergency—"

"It was a medical emergency four days ago. All I needed was a phone call." Trish countered. "What happened?"

"A girl was involved in a car accident. That was the emergency." Hank sighed.

Trish's blue eyes widened with concern. She opened her mouth, but Hank shushed her with a raised finger.

"No it's okay, the girl's fine. But when I ran some standard blood work, some interesting things came up." He gave her a sheepish grin. "I was completely enthralled."

"So what are you doing now?" Trish had long ago perfected her pout and it worked murderously on Hank. "I don't see your car accident girl anywhere, unless she's hiding in a closet."

"Moving." Hank said. He proceeded to pack a notebook into a box.

"What?" Trish demanded.

"I'm moving." Hank repeated. "I got an offer to continue my work in Westchester. The lab is far superior to this one, so I accepted."

"You just decide to up and leave without even discussing it with me?" Trish took hold of Hank's arm.

"Westchester is still very close to the city. I didn't think it would matter to you." Hank nervously toyed with Trish's hair. "It doesn't change anything between us."

"I take it your mind's made up then." she sighed.

"I'm very excited." He had a child-like glint in his eyes.

"I have a few hours before I have to get back." Trish said. "I'll help you pack."

"You are wonderful, Trish Tilby." Hank replied.

Trish rolled her eyes and began to stuff files into a box. The couple packed in silence, they picked through Hank's dusty medical books and slides. Hank skimmed through stacks of scribbled over notebooks, saved some and threw others out. Even as the boxes were becoming filled, the lab still looked a cluttered mess.

Hank pulled a rag out of a drawer and began to wipe the countertops down. Trish continued packing. She picked up one particular file that was covered with Hank's near illegible doctor's hand. Trish eyed it curiously and flipped through the contents, her lips in a troubled frown.

"Hank, what's this?" she asked quietly.

"Doctor nonsense, I assume." He set the rag down. "Why?"

"The problematic X-gene is pinpointed as the cause of mutants." Trish turned the page of the report with an angry jerk of her arm. "So far the sample DNA has proved resilient to any experimentation."

"Trish, I was hoping that you wouldn't find out about this…" Hank swallowed hard as he stared at the floor.

He tried frantically to form the right words, to make her understand. Trish could very well hate him afterwards, Hank was willing to accept that, it was as much as he deserved. But she needed to at least understand. Henry McCoy was no monster, at least, he didn't want to be, one couldn't control the way they were born. He looked into Trish's eyes for what he figured would be the last time, took notice of the subtle layer of brown eyeshadow that adorned her brow line and the deep red stain on her lips. Beautiful and soon to be gone forever.

"Hoping that I wouldn't find out what?" Trish said coldly. "That while I thought you were a kind, compassionate human being behind my back you were a prejudiced, black-hearted creep that was planning genocide?"

"A what?" Hank's glasses slid down his nose.

"What made you decide to hate mutants?" she demanded. "It's a born condition. Why did you decide that mutants were problematic and not kids with Down Syndrome?"

"You think I hate mutants?" Hank stammered.

"I don't see why else you'd be toying with DNA trying to cure the _mutant_ _problem_." Trish retorted.

Hank took a deep breath. "Trish, I—"

"Save it." she interrupted him. "We're through."

"You don't understand." Hank protested.

"I understand enough." Trish turned away from him and opened the door.

"I'm a mutant." Hank whispered softly.

Trish laughed and shook her head. Hank desperately wished that she would turn around so he could see the expression on her face.

"You honestly expect me to believe that?" she asked.

"It's true." he admitted. "I've been trying to figure out how to tell you, but it was always easier to put it off."

Trish turned to face him, her eyebrow was raised skeptically. "What do you do?"

"I have big hands." Hank said. "Big feet. But I don't really do anything. I'm just different. Most of the information in that file is based off of my own blood samples."

"You're not lying, are you?" she murmured.

Hank shook his head sadly. The way the large, muscular man looked so helpless, scared her.

"So you won't irradiate me or set me on fire if I get too close?" Trish asked.

Hank shrugged. "There's only one way to find out." he said.

Trish came towards him and her face softened. She reached for his face and pushed his glasses back up his nose. Hank felt her small arms circle around his neck and he leaned forward into the embrace. He nuzzled his face into the crook of her neck and inhaled her warmth


	7. Cooling Climate

Chapter 7 Cooling Climate:

"Senator Kelly, isn't it true that you were once one of the Mutant Registration Act's strongest supporters?" Graydon Creed asked.

Robert Kelly adjusted his glasses and cleared his throat. "I think that everyone has something that they're ashamed of. I was wrong. It's as simple as that."

"But doesn't that reveal you to be a fickle and uncertain man?" Creed pressed. "One who is unfit to guide the United States?"

"It shows me to be a man of conscience." Kelly countered. "I realized the horrible implications of the Mutant Registration Act and wanted to be able to look myself in the mirror again."

"But the Mutant Registration Act has positive implications for both human and mutant alike." Creed argued. "You wouldn't harbor any ill will towards mutants now would you, Senator?"

"The Mutant Registration Act is anti-mutant." Kelly stated. "It sounds simple enough, but the basic groundwork is there. If the Mutant Registration Act is enacted, it would be very easy to start requiring mutants to wear, say, Stars of David so they could stand out in a crowd. Before you know it we'll have little mutant ghettos set up."

The pallor of Graydon Creed's face had darkened. His over-polished teeth were hidden by a scowl. He placed a glass of water to his lips and drank slowly.

He finally said, "Those are very strong words, Senator."

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Senator Robert Kelly walked briskly through the crowds of photographers and reporters. Although the debate had not gone quite as planned, it couldn't have been considered unsuccessful.

As soon as the throng of people thinned out, the senator was joined by an elderly man with wispy gray hair. Kelly's eyes glinted yellow briefly to reveal that the senator was far more than he seemed.

"That Graydon Creed is a rather repulsive individual." the older gentleman noted.

As the two rounded a corner, the senator's features seemed to melt. In mere seconds Caucasian skin was replaced with blue, flame red hair fell to a woman's shoulders where a man's graying head of brown hair had lain previously. Mystique walked where Robert Kelly had been with a cold smirk on her face.

"Perhaps he was never held enough as a child." she suggested.

"Indeed." Erik Lehnsherr agreed.

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"Hey, Rachel." Bobby reached out for the redheaded girl's shoulder.

Rachel's head snapped up immediately before he could touch her. Bobby's hand snaked back nervously. Rogue was by his side, her arms pinned behind her back.

"We just wanted t' say sorry for earlier." Rogue offered.

"Logan's a jerk." Bobby said.

Rogue raised an eyebrow at her boyfriend. Bobby shifted his weight to his other foot uncomfortably.

"Logan can act like a jerk." Bobby corrected himself. "But he's a good guy."

"I'll take your word for it." Rachel smiled wryly.

"So all's forgotten then?" Bobby grinned.

"Why not?" Rachel held out her left hand.

Bobby took it and gave it a firm shake. Rachel offered her hand to Rogue next. Rogue shot Bobby a look of apprehension and his grin rapidly became lukewarm. Rogue brought her hands in front of her, the pink lines of her bare palms faced outward defensively.

"Ah can't." she murmured.

"It's her power." Bobby explained. "She can't touch people."

"Well, she can touch this." Rachel said as she examined her left hand. "It's not real."

Rogue gave Rachel a doubtful look.

"I'm serious." Rachel insisted. She flung her left hand in front of the other girl who shrank away from it. "Touch it. It'll be fine, I promise."

Bobby's brows furrowed with concern. "You don't have to if you don't want to." he reassured. Bobby massaged the clothed small of Rogue's back with his knuckles.

Rogue's hand crept up hesitantly. The pads of the girl's fingertips gingerly grazed first the knuckles of Rachel's outstretched hand and when Rogue realized that both girls lacked any negative reaction, she fully embraced Rachel's hand with her own.

A surge of anti-climactic disappointment briefly flitted across Rogue's brown eyes. "It's so cold." she whispered.

Rachel shrugged. "It works better than the one before it did."

Rogue and Bobby looked to each other for what to do next. Rachel watched the two with a slightly amused smirk.

"Shouldn't you two be studying for the upcoming test?"

At the sound of their teacher's voice, Bobby's shoulders tensed while Rogue looked sheepish.

Scott Summers walked over to the two students and looked them up and down before he added, "Well?"

Rogue gave a grudging nod. Bobby groaned. The two took it as their cue to leave and quickly made a beeline towards a nearby corridor.

Rachel looked up at Scott expectantly. Despite the fact that his ruby quartz glasses hid his eyes, his slight frown revealed the careful thought he put into his words.

After an awkward silence, he said, "Hi."

Rachel smiled. "Hi."

"Doctor McCoy wanted to see you again." Scott said. "Unless you're busy."

"Am I busy?" she asked hopefully?

"Hank seemed pretty excited to see you." Scott replied.

"He just wants to rip my arm and leg off." Rachel muttered.

"Hank's really a good guy." Scott assured. "I used to work with him years ago."

"I'm sure you're right" Rachel sighed. "I just don't have a good track record when it comes to doctors."

"Your prosthetics wouldn't happen to be adamantium, would they?" Scott asked dryly.

"No. I don't think so." Rachel said.

"Just checking." Scott smiled.

"So how do you know Dr. McCoy?" Rachel asked.

"He was one of the first students here at the school." Scott explained. "Along with me and…"

Scott swallowed hard. He massaged the bridge of his nose fiercely and cleared his throat.

"Jean Grey?" Rachel finished for him.

"Yeah." Scott said. "How did you?

"Logan told me that she…"

"Yeah." he cut her off. The way they were able to finish one another's sentences was uncanny, but while it left Rachel pleased, it made Scott uncomfortable.

"You cared for her a lot, didn't you?" Rachel whispered.

"Is it so easy to see?" he asked bitterly.

"It only hurts when you lose someone you love." she replied. Rachel's smile was sad. "But at the same time, if don't love anyone, you die."

"Let's just go see what Dr. McCoy wants." Scott suggested.

Rachel nodded and followed him out of the room.

"Mr. Summers?" Rachel stopped abruptly.

"Yeah?" Scott turned to face the girl.

"Why are you so nice to me?" she asked.

"I try to be nice to everyone." Scott shrugged.

"Yeah, but with everybody else you'll say 'hi' or pat them on the head or whatever." Rachel explained. "You actually talk to me."

Scott adjusted his glasses nervously. He looked at her and Rachel pretended that she could see his brown eyes behind his glasses. Scott cleared his throat.

"You remind me of someone." he said finally.

"Is that a good thing?" Rachel asked.

Scott hesitated before he replied, "I don't know yet."


	8. Beer Buddies

Author's notes: More German! Mein freund = my friend, danke = thank you and verwassert = watered down.

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Chapter 8 Beer Buddies:

"What are you up to, mein freund?" Kurt asked as he strolled into the kitchen.

Logan looked up from his spot at the table. He pounded his beer bottle on the tabletop. "What does it look like?" he said gruffly.

"It looks like perhaps you need a hug." Kurt replied in a jovial manner.

The dark look that the Wolverine directed at his blue furred companion made Kurt wish that he had swallowed his own tongue. He laughed nervously.

"Perhaps not. Do you have a bottle to spare?" Kurt asked.

Logan's eyelids drooped, a sign that, that was not his first bottle. "I didn't figure you to be the drinking type." he said.

Kurt chuckled. "I am German, Logan. I enjoy a good brew." he replied. Kurt joined the Wolverine at the table. "However, this American beer of yours, to use the vernacular, tastes like watered down piss."

Logan stared gap-jawed at who he had assumed to be a soft-spoken man. Kurt scratched the back of his head.

"Did I get the saying wrong?" he asked.

"No." Logan shook his head fiercely. "No. Not at all. Let me get you a bottle of watered down piss."

Logan stood up and shuffled over to his hidden stash of alcoholic goodies tucked carefully behind an expired box of Oat Bran in the deep, hidden recesses of the kitchen's pantry. He rubbed the bottle clean on the front of his flannel shirt before he popped the cap off of the beer on the corner of the table. Logan shot Kurt a feral smile as he handed Nightcrawler his beer.

"Danke." Kurt said. He flashed Logan his fangs in an impish grin.

Logan sat down and watched the other man intently as Kurt sniffed his beer. Nightcrawler took a sip and shook his head sadly.

"Verwassert." He concluded.

"That good, huh?" Logan asked.

"Logan, I will have to show you what real beer tastes like sometime." Kurt promised.

Logan let a gravelly chuckle escape his chest. "Blue, that just might be the beginning of a _beautiful_ friendship." he said.

Kurt raised an eyebrow as he placed the lip of the bottle to his mouth. "I hope that, that is a good thing."

"You tell me." Logan replied.

Kurt regarded his friend's red rimmed eyes with his yellow ones and exhaled a deep sigh. "You are a very good man, Logan." Kurt said. The German man's accent did little to hinder the precision of his English. "I know this, the professor knows this. Even Scott, though he may be reluctant to admit it, knows this. Are you the only one who does not?"

"What makes you think that you know me so well?" Logan growled. He gripped the neck of his beer bottle so hard that his knuckles turned white.

"Perhaps I don't." Kurt conceded. "But I think you're blaming yourself for something that was faultless."

"Shows how much you know." Logan snorted.

Kurt nodded and quietly went back to his beer, but deep worry lines arced across his forehead. Logan seemed to stare past his fellow X-Man.

"I killed a woman back there." Logan said, almost offhand.

"Logan, you've already been told this by the professor and I will say it again. You did not kill Jean Grey." Kurt insisted firmly.

"I never said I killed Jeannie!" Logan snapped. His beer bottle fell over and he collected it with a clumsy hand. Foam overflowed the lip of the bottle and spilt on his fingers.

"I do not understand." Kurt said softly.

"I never said I killed Jeannie." Logan repeated. "I said I killed a woman back there. One of Stryker's goons. She was just like me."

"Lady Deathstrike?" Kurt traced the lip of his bottle with a fingertip, his eyes drifted from Logan's. "She would have killed you—"

"No." Logan interrupted with a snarl. "Stryker would have had her kill me. Who knows what she would have done."

"Logan, you had no choice." Kurt said firmly.

"There's always a choice." Logan replied bitterly. "I chose. But it still sucks to think that even though you've got your scars and I've got these," with a tightening of his forearm muscles the Wolverine's adamantium claws were unsheathed with a snikt. "we got off free while she had to get pumped full of molten adamantium."

Kurt flinched at the brutally honest depiction of Lady Deathstrike's demise. He took a few violent slugs of his beer in a hope that it would ease his inhibitions.

"I won't lie and say that the pain will ever truly go away." Kurt whispered. "But perhaps with time, you will be able to understand and come to terms with your actions when you look back on them."

"How would you know?" A dark smirk flickered across Logan's lips. He retracted his claws. "Have you ever killed another person?"

"Well, no." Kurt admitted. "I don't think I would be capable of doing such a thing."

"Oh?" Logan asked. "Why not?"

"It is a mortal sin." Kurt replied.

"Yeah?" Logan's hazel eyes had become more bloodshot with each consecutive bottle of beer. "New religions are sprouting up that say it's a sin to be blue and furry or have adamantium claws."

Kurt's jaw muscles tightened, resolute. "We will just have to prove them wrong." he whispered.

"I guess we will." Logan emptied another bottle of beer into his gullet.

The two men turned their attentions back to their own respective bottles. Logan seemed to revel in the unnerving silence, while Kurt was its unwary prisoner. Kurt refused to leave his spot as much as he wanted, determined to befriend the crude loner.

They were finally interrupted when Scott shuffled into the kitchen. He sniffed at the sludge in the coffeepot left over from the morning and grimaced.

"All gone." Logan announced.

"Yeah." Scott nodded. "Is there anything else to drink?"

"Beer." Logan offered.

Despite not being able to see his eyes, the lined forehead and crinkled nose told Logan that Scott Summers was giving his most disapproving look.

"This is a school." Scott said.

"Yeah?" Logan asked. His eyes gave off the glint of an animal that had just cornered its prey.

"It's alright, Scott." Kurt intervened. "We are of age faculty enjoying a brew on our off time."

Scott grudgingly sat down. With a flick of his tail, Kurt opened the pantry and revealed Logan's stash. Scott shrugged his shoulders and reached for a beer in a rigid display of casual behavior.

After his first sip, Scott didn't splutter, choke or make a nasty face, so his esteem in Logan's eyes was raised a notch. Maybe if their fearless leader belched or tried to appear anything other than prim and proper in front of his bottle of beer that came from a $7.99 six-pack, he and Logan could have been friends. As it was, however, the two could just barely guarantee Professor Xavier that they wouldn't intentionally kill the other.

"So, what brings you here this fine evening?" Kurt asked.

Logan feigned interest in his beer bottle, but he kept one eye constantly on the other two men.

"I just finished with teaching a class." Scott muttered. "Anyone would need a drink after that."

"What were you teaching?" Kurt wondered.

"Self Defense." Scott answered grimly.

"Self Defense? What's so hard about that?" Kurt lilted. "Were you afraid of hurting the children?"

Scott gagged on his beer. "Hurt them? Obviously, you've never been to Self Defense class."

"Why? I do not understand." Kurt pressed.

"The professor wanted me to teach a class in self defense for the students in case they couldn't use their mutant powers or their mutant powers couldn't protect them against attackers." Scott explained. "So the big rule for that class is no mutant powers. I spar with the kids one at a time. Of course, as soon as Peter hears Kitty scream, I've got a 300 pound metal-plated, hormonally driven teen charging in my direction. By the end of the day, I'm lucky if I haven't slammed my fist into one of Bobby's ice walls, had Kitty dodge a blow by phasing through me or had Jubilee blind me so she can sucker punch me at least once."

Logan chuckled. He had caught Jubilee trying to sneak out of the mansion late one night last week. The kid had quite the lip. When she realized that Logan wasn't going to put up with her melodramatic threats, she blasted him with her signature pyrotechnic projectiles before making a made a mad dash to escape him. He and Jubilee had gotten along strangely well after that.

"It's not funny." Scott insisted. "The class is very important. I don't think most of the kids realize yet that they can't treat the world outside of the mansion like it's a game or joke."

"Perhaps you should consider that a blessing." Kurt suggested. "They will learn soon enough."

"You're probably right." Scott's words were muffled by the lip of his beer bottle.

"So what do you think of them?" Logan asked.

"What do I think of what?" Scott raised an eyebrow.

"The kids." Logan replied. "What about the new girl?"

"Are you still stuck on that?" Scott's voice became clipped and harsh. "Rachel has prosthetic limbs, that's what you smelled. Anything else is just paranoia on your part."

"My instincts don't lie, bub." Logan said quietly. "I've just got a hunch about her."

"Rachel seemed very good natured and sincere to me." Kurt offered. "But I will admit that when she first woke she did behave suspiciously."

"Of course she behaved suspiciously." Scott argued. "She was in an unfamiliar setting and she woke up to your face."

Kurt's tail drooped. Logan suffered Scott a look before he turned back to his beer.

"Sorry, Kurt." Scott mumbled. "I didn't mean it like that."

"Apology accepted." Kurt said.

Scott was still convinced that the blue fur on the back of Kurt's neck was bristling, but he let it slide.

"I just don't understand what the big deal is." Scott stated. "The school accepted you two with open arms, the same for Rogue, no questions asked. So why do you feel we should treat Rachel differently?"

"I never suggested that we treat Rachel differently." Kurt replied. "She is a darling girl. I just thought that she behaved somewhat oddly when she first woke."

"Maybe Hank had been singing Britney Spears in the medical bay." Scott suggested. "He likes to do that."

"I had a word with him about that." Logan muttered. "He's promised to keep his singing to a minimum."

"Let's just drop this Rachel nonsense." Scott insisted. "If the professor had suspected anything, I doubt he'd have given her open access to the school."

"I'll let you know when I figure out what's wrong with her." Logan promised.

"I'll hold my breath, then." Scot retorted testily.

"What about the other children?" Kurt cut in.

Scott sighed and pushed his beer bottle away. "Jubilee is trouble, plain and simple." he said. "Kitty's intelligence is on par with some of the school's faculty, so she'll be trouble until she gains some maturity. Peter, well, he's a good kid."

"What about Lorna, Roberto and Sam?" Kurt asked.

Scott chuckled. "Those three are still small enough that if they get out of line you can physically move them to time out."

"That's a sight I'd like to see." Logan snorted.

Despite being only eight years old, Roberto DaCosta was the mansion's resident hothead. Already, Logan had picked up a handful of Portuguese obscenities from the Brazilian boy. The thought that Scott Summers could anyway match the fiery youngster in a battle of stubborn willpower was laughable.

"I'll admit, I had Bobby help me with Roberto one time." Scott said. "He wouldn't sit down, so Bobby froze his pants to his chair. It worked until Roberto managed to take his pants off, then we had an even bigger problem."

Kurt bit back a smile. Logan was less amused.

"How is the popsicle doing anyway?" Logan asked.

"You'd probably know better than I would." Scott admitted. "He hasn't spoken with his parents since John nearly blew up their house and he's trying to date Rogue."

Logan shook his head as he nursed his beer. "There are ways around touching an untouchable girl." he said with alcohol-induced wisdom. "If he's too stupid to figure that out, then he's too stupid to reap the rewards."

Logan paused and smiled. "Of course, Popsicle's too stupid to even realize that he should stay upwind of a mutant that has a nose like me. Bobby, stop hiding around the corner."

Bobby shuffled into the doorway. "I was just—" he stammered. "I'll come back, never mind."

The teen turned on his heels and fled. Kurt looked over at Logan and raised an eyebrow. Logan just shrugged.

"I'll go see what he wanted." Scott offered. He took his beer bottle to the sink and rinsed it out before he followed after Bobby.

"If you knew he was there, then why did you say that?" Kurt wondered.

Logan stood up and patted Kurt on the shoulder. "I'm going to go take a walk." he said. "I'll see you around."

Kurt nodded numbly and watched Logan leave. Kurt stretched his shoulders out before he began to collect all the empty beer bottles.


	9. Like Ice

Chapter 9 Like Ice:

The sun had crept to the horizon, its golden kiss painted the world in shades of scarlet and orange. Like fire.

It was past park hours. The wind whistled through the closed metal gate that loomed over the lush flora. The boy smirked at the enormous billboards surrounding the area with the smarmy visage of Graydon Creed. Child's play.

In the morning, volunteers would arrive with their red, white and blue balloons and "Creed for President!" buttons. A pity there'd be no place for them to string Mr. Creed's slogan banner of, "Fighting for a Brighter Tomorrow."

He snapped the expensive Zippo lighter open. The small flame flickered to life and he quickly snuffed it out with a click of the lid. It had been a gift from an old friend whose touch was ice. A poetic irony, the boy reflected as he thumbed a fresh flame. Almost as ironic as a man who secretly tried to obliterate the mutant raise under the guise of helping and supporting them.

With a carefree wave of his hand the fragile flame grew, greedily devouring first a few wisps of grass and then moving to the flowers, bushes, trees. He wondered briefly what the police would think of the ruin. There would be no careless cigarette found, no trace of gasoline at the fire's heart, nothing but the will of an angry mutant to be blamed for the cause of the arson. He shrugged and allowed the thought to fade back into the recesses of his brain.

His job done, he shut his Zippo and tucked it into the back pocket of his jeans. He strolled away from the park, but couldn't resist and waited patiently around the block. A smirk played across the boy's shadow shrouded face as screams of panic were followed by the wails of fire engines. He truly was a god among insects.

* * *

"Hey." Rogue set the book she was reading down on her bed.

Her roommate, Jubilee, sprawled out on her own respective bed, glanced up from her magazine before she cranked the volume to her Discman up.

Bobby crept into the room and offered his girlfriend a wave before he joined her on her bed. "Hi." he said softly.

"What're ya up to?" she asked.

"I came up to see you." Bobby smiled and put his hand on the sleeve of her t-shirt. "What have you been doing? I haven't seen you all day."

"Well, ya know." Rogue's eyes fluttered away from his and focused on the yellow and green quilt on her bed. "Studyin' an' stuff. Mr. Wagner's got a German test planned t'morrow and Ah just realized there's more than masculine an' feminine forms—"

"So you trapped yourself up here all day?" Bobby exclaimed. "You need a break."

"Ah don't know…" Rogue trailed off.

Bobby brushed aside her weak protest and gripped her gloved hand. "Come on." he commanded.

"Bobby!" Rogue drawled.

Jubilee rolled her eyes and turned the volume of her Discman up another notch.

"No." Bobby insisted firmly. He yanked his girlfriend from her bed. "You need a break and now."

"Fine." Rogue stood stiffly beside him. She sulked. "What do ya want t'do?"

Bobby flashed her a grin. "Has a Southern Belle like you ever ice skated?" he asked.

"Ice skate?" Rogue cocked her head to one side. "It's still autumn."

Bobby's blue eyes brimmed with excitement. "So?"

Bobby tugged at Rogue's hand and pulled her from her room. Her loud objections eventually melted away to laughter. Perhaps what Logan had said earlier had some truth to it. Bobby continued to drag the timid girl through the corridors to the elevators.

The couple got out on the basement floor and headed towards the pool. By the pool the humid air and stink of chlorine hit Rogue and she raised an eyebrow at Bobby. His grin widened.

Rogue sat by the edge of the pool and yanked a glove off. She dipped her fingers into the water and smirked.

"Bobby—" she began.

"Shh!" he urged. "Just watch."

Bobby Drake knelt by the poolside and took a deep breath. His brows furrowed with concentration and his palms hovered above the water.

Rogue gasped as Iceman froze the contents of the pool. He flashed his teeth wide in a smile.

"Will the professor get mad?" Rogue smiled.

"It's a little late for that." Bobby shrugged.

The teen slid across the frozen surface in sneakered feet until he was in the center. He brought his hand out and beckoned Rogue forward.

Rogue brought a hand to her mouth to hide her sniggering. She stood up and brushed herself off. The Mississippi born girl gave the ice a dubious look before she gingerly stepped onto it.

"See? It's not hard." Bobby reassured.

Rogue shuffled her feet forward slowly. As her confidence grew, her strides became larger until she slipped and came crashing down. She skidded, bum-first further towards the center.

"Easy!" Bobby urged.

He glided effortlessly over to Rogue and held his hand out for her. She scowled.

"Here." Bobby offered his hand again. "Let me help you up."

Rogue finally accepted Bobby's hand. With a quick jerk of her arm, he tumbled down next to her on the ice.

"Did I really deserve that?" Bobby laughed.

"Ah just figured it'd be easier getting' ya down here, than getting' me t'stand back up." Rogue said.

Bobby chuckled. "Oh?" he said. "And what do you think of ice skating so far?"

"It's cold." She frowned.

"Well the object is to skate on it, not soak our pants on melting ice." Bobby replied. "Do you want to try again?"

Rogue's frown deepened.

"Hey," Bobby twined his fingers around her sole shock of white hair. "is something wrong?"

"No." Rogue shook her head. "Ah'm fine."

"Talk to me." Bobby pleaded.

"Ah was just thinkin' about Dr. Grey." she murmured. "About how cold that water must've been."

Bobby wrapped his arms around Rogue and she sagged limply into his arms. She smelled like soap and he appreciated that. Jubilee often smelled of the sugary bubble gum that she used to cover the scent of the cigars she swiped from Logan and Kitty tended to use numerous hair care and make-up products to hide the fact that she was relatively plain.

"What's wrong?" he asked softly.

"Ah don't know." she sighed. "It all just happened so fast, Ah guess."

"I know." Bobby whispered.

First his parents, then John and ultimately Jean. They were all working together unconsciously to make Bobby Drake the loneliest mutant on the face of the Earth.

"Ah was so scared." Rogue continued. "Ah could barely move. But Dr. Grey was strong enough t'run out there an' save us all. Even when she knew she wouldn't come back. Ah don't think Ah'd be able t'do that."

"But that was Dr. Grey's decision." Bobby said. "Why are you beating yourself up over a choice she made?"

"She wouldn't have had t'make that choice if Ah hadn't broken the Blackbird." Rogue replied.

Bobby tightened his grip around his girlfriend. "You don't really believe that do you?"

"What else can Ah believe?" she asked miserably.

"That if you weren't brave enough to fly the Blackbird where you did, Dr. Grey still would have died." Bobby told her firmly. "But so would have Logan, Mr. Summers, the professor and everybody else."

Rogue sighed. "Ah guess." was her reluctant answer.

Bobby gave her a final squeeze, then hopped to his feet on the ice.

"Let me help you up." He offered her his hand.

Rogue allowed him to pull her to her feet on the slippery surface. Bobby held her wrists securely as she steadied herself. Once she was confident with her footing, he moved Rogue's hands to his shoulders to free his own hands. Bobby began to dig in his pockets.

"I was going to save this for later." Bobby glanced shyly at her slush dampened jeans. "But you look like you could use some cheering up."

"What is it?" Rogue wondered.

"A surprise." Bobby replied. "Close your eyes."

Rogue raised an eyebrow, but complied. Bobby dug deeper in his pockets still.

"Are ya ready?" she asked.

"No! Keep them closed." Bobby laughed. "Trust me."

"Okay." Rogue drawled.

Bobby found what he was looking for and pulled it from his pocket. A yellow, nylon scarf. He unfolded the translucent material and draped it over Rogue's head.

"Ready?" Her voice was anxious.

"Not yet."

"Okay."

So simple, the scarf veiled her face like a geisha or princess. She waited impatiently, with her eyes clenched shut.

Bobby leaned forward and found her lips with his own, protected by the thin layer of material. Rogue gasped and her eyes fluttered open.

"What're ya—"

He kissed her again. This time a small smile formed on her full lips. Rogue reached out and stroked Bobby's cheek with a gloved finger. Bobby nuzzled his face into her fingertips.

"You're sweet." She kissed his cheek. "Thank ya."

Bobby produced a pair of black silk gloves from his back pocket. Rogue's eyes widened in delight as he carefully slipped his hands into them.

"Let me touch you." he whispered.

"Ah…" Rogue stammered as a blush blossomed on her cheeks.

Bobby's silk covered fingers were soft as he traced her collarbone and neck. The girl felt a shiver travel down her spine and her blush deepened. His hands crept beneath the hem of her top and began to explore the contours of her stomach.

"Bobby." Rogue very nearly squeaked. "Just hold me."

Rogue buried her face into his chest and Bobby's arms fell around her back. Bobby bit his lip. She had always pushed him away before, but that had been because of her power. Now that he had figured out a way around it, she still pushed him away.

"Is the water cold?"

Rogue jerked her head up to watch Peter and Kitty walk out from the locker rooms. Peter had a towel flung over his broad shoulder, while Kitty had hers wrapped around her slim hips. Both wore swimsuits.

"In a manner of speaking." Bobby chuckled nervously.

"I don't believe this." Kitty eyed the frozen pool doubtfully.

"Ice skatin'." Rogue replied.

"Can you unfreeze it?" Kitty asked.

Bobby grinned sheepishly.


	10. A Time for Twinkies

10 A Time for Twinkies:

"When I'm drivin' in my car and that man comes on the radio!" Hank crooned. The doctor's lips were pursed in a pale imitation of Mick Jagger's. "And he's tellin' me more and more about some useless information."

Trish giggled. "What ever happened to singing Britney Spears?" she asked.

Hank frowned. "I promised to stop that." He flashed a devious grin. "But I promised nothing in regards to the Stones."

With that, the doctor turned the radio's volume up. It was just in time for the next verse.

Bobby, stuck on the doctor's examination table in boxers and an undershirt, heaved a sigh. When he arrived in the medical bay he had expected a routine physical. What he had received was something more cringe worthy.

Aside from Dr. McCoy's performance, Bobby also was privileged to an audience of one Ms. Trish Tilby, a fairly attractive older woman who giggled while he was trapped in his underwear. Suffice it to say, Bobby Drake wanted to die of embarrassment.

Bobby cleared his throat. "I just had a physical a little while ago." he protested weakly.

"I'm sure you did." Dr. McCoy didn't sound swayed. "But I highly doubt that you had a Hank McCoy certified, indorsed by Trish Tilby, mutant-centric physical, now have you?"

Bobby answered with a morose sigh.

"So, you're the Iceman?" Dr. McCoy questioned as he inserted an otoscope into Bobby's ear.

Bobby gave the doctor and sidelong glance and nodded.

"What does that entail?" Hank asked.

"What do you mean?" Bobby asked.

Dr. McCoy put his otoscope away. He began to press the head of his stethoscope against Bobby's chest.

"Well, you freeze things." Hank reiterated. "Are there any limitations? If something's too big can you not freeze it? Do you need what you're freezing to be water based or can it be anything? Take a deep breath."

"I don't know." Bobby admitted. "I haven't really played with my power all that much."

"So freezing the professor's Olympic sized swimming pool doesn't constitute as playing?" Hank muttered. "Okay, next question. Do you experience any sort of physical change when using your power? A difference in the way irises appear is common."

"No. Not that I know of." Bobby said. "Am I done now?"

Hank glanced at his stethoscope and let it fall against his chest. "Almost. I want to have some blood work in my records."

"Is that really necessary?" Bobby asked. "I'm O."

"A severely mutated O." Dr. McCoy replied. "I want a sample to run some tests. Mad scientist stuff, I'm sure you understand."

Bobby groaned as the doctor wrapped the rubber band around the teenager's upper arm. Hank quickly filled two vials with the Iceman's blood.

Hank grinned at Bobby. "You're free to go."

Bobby mumbled something under his breath, but quickly gathered his clothing. A smirk was very obviously plastered across Trish's face as she watched the boy leave.

Once they were alone in the medical bay, Trish crept behind Hank and wrapped her arms around his middle. His glasses were perched dangerously low on the tip of his nose as the doctor perused his paperwork.

"Almost done, handsome?" she asked.

Her sweet breath was hot on his ear and Hank smiled. He turned to face Trish and set the paperwork on a countertop.

"As much as I appreciate you keeping me company since Warren ruthlessly abandoned me, I told you I'd bore you to tears." Hank said.

"Ruthlessly?" Trish raised an eyebrow. "The man's on a date. Let your assistant have fun once in a while. Who's he seeing anyway?"

Hank shrugged. "Candy? Betsy? Alison? Who knows? As long as he's not seeing anyone ten years his junior I could care less."

Trish laughed. "So, tell me, Dr. McCoy," she said. "when are you going to have a 'hot date' next?"

"I have three more students to check out, but afterwards I'd gladly be at your beck and call." he replied.

"I like the sound of that." Trish grinned. "I think what you're doing at this school is really sweet."

"Not that I considered how sweet I would be for taking this job." Hank said. "But I'm glad you like it."

"Do you think that maybe Professor Xavier would let me interview him and maybe some of the other faculty?" she asked.

"You'd have to ask Professor Xavier." Hank answered.

Trish nodded as she pulled Hank closer to her. Hank sighed as the high pitched trill of Trish's cell phone erupted from her pants' pocket. Trish held a finger up for silence as she answered her call.

"Yeah?" She still looked up at Hank, but her eyes lost their focus. "Uh huh… Really? I'll be right there."

As she hung up, Trish gave Hank an apologetic glance.

"Work?" Hank wasn't asking.

Trish smiled and kissed his cheek. "A suspected arson in the exact location that Graydon Creed planned to have a political rally."

"I suppose you'll call me later." Hank smirked.

"If it's not too late." Trish replied.

Hank chuckled as his girlfriend hurried from the medical bay. As she left, Trish nearly ran Scott over right outside the doorway. Scott glanced through the door and rapped his knuckles along the doorframe.

"It's open." Hank called out.

"I just came to see how you were doing." Scott cleared his throat.

"Oh?" Hank asked. He turned the radio off. "Did the professor send you to check up on me?"

"You mean spy on you?" Scott asked. "No. I just thought I'd see how you were doing."

"I see." Hank began to shuffle through a random pile of paperwork.

"So, are you done with the students' physicals yet?" Scott began to study an asthma diagram on the wall.

"No." Hank answered. The doctor picked up a list on the top of his massive paper pile. "I have three students left. Jubilation Lee, Roberto DaCosta and Saint John Allerdyce."

"John?" Scott's head jerked up. He forced his eyes to focus back on the diagram. "No. You don't have to worry about John."

"But I do have to worry about the other two." Hank raised an eyebrow. "I already had the pleasure of trying to take a blood sample from Mr. DaCosta earlier. As you can see, his name is still on my 'to do' list."

"You know, things have really changed since you left." Scott said.

"I doubt it." Hank replied. "I'm sure that Xavier is still collecting ragamuffin strays and deluding himself into believing that a peaceful coexistence between mutant and man can occur."

Scott didn't answer. Instead he walked over to the tray of blood samples. He pulled them out one by one and began to sort them in alphabetical order.

"Scott," Hank said.

The muscles along Scott's shoulders stiffened.

"I never said how sorry I was about—"

"It's okay." Scott cut him off briskly.

"I didn't know." Hank continued. "I would have called. I should have been there for the funeral. For you."

"I said it was okay." Scott insisted.

Hank nodded solemnly. "So, how have you been?" he asked.

"I'm alive." Scott said. "That's a start."

"It's a rather meager start if you ask me." Hank replied. "Tell me, what do you feel about Xavier now? About his dream?"

"I'm still here, aren't I?" Scott's voice was deadly quiet.

"Don't lie to me, Scott." Hank murmured. The doctor began to scribe notes onto a file labeled 'Robert Drake.' "I've known you for too long. Don't insult me."

Scott sighed and Hank rolled a chair over to his friend. The leader of the X-Men slumped down into the seat and appeared as small as his six foot plus frame would allow.

"I tried to leave." Scott admitted. "But not because of what you're thinking. It had nothing to do with the professor. It's just that everything here reminds me of her."

"Why didn't you leave?" Hank asked.

"Well, I did." Scott replied. "Only, on my way out, I nearly ran over that girl."

"Rachel?" Hank set his pen aside.

"Yeah."

"Rachel's fine. Why don't you leave now?" Hank pressed.

"I don't know." It took Scott only a moment to dig up excuses. "She's still so skinny. I feel like it's my responsibility to look after her. I found her."

"Rachel's proven to be resilient so far. She can look after herself." Hank countered. "Who's going to look after Scott Summers?"

"That's ridiculous." Scott shook his head.

Hank raised an eyebrow. "Is it?" he asked. "The reasoning you've given me for staying is flimsy at best. Perhaps it's because she resembles Jean?"

"What are you talking about?" Scott scoffed. "If that isn't the most ludicrous, harebrained, nonsensical—"

"But it's true, isn't it?" Hank interrupted. "Sure, her eyes are a little different and her cheeks still have some rounded baby fat despite being undernourished, but look at that jaw line and those lips. Do I even have to mention the red hair?"

"Shut up." Scott stood up and pointed a threatening finger at Hank.

"Do I have a point?" Hank whispered.

"I said shut up." Scott snarled.

"Who's being nonsensical now?" Hank asked. "You're worthless right now. You need to take time off, grieve. Instead, you're following around this child, pretending that one redhead can easily replace another. I'll tell you right now that it can't. Maybe Xavier can sit around and watch you deteriorate, but I can't because you're my friend and I'm worried—"

Any other words that Hank had planned to use were stopped by Scott's fist. Scott shook his hand and stared at it as though his very fingers had a mind of their own. When he looked back at Hank, his brows were knotted with fury.

"Shut up!" Scott demanded. "You have no right to talk about Professor Xavier. You ran off like a coward years ago."

"If I am a coward it's because I lacked the strength to fight at Magneto's side." Hank fingered the blood that oozed from his broken lip.

"Magneto wouldn't waste his time spitting at a mutant who's ashamed of having an X-gene." Scott accused.

"And you're proud of being a mutant?" Hank asked. "Or do you just pretend because if you try to blend in with Homo sapiens you risk having something happening to your ruby quartz glasses and being outed?"

"I will not deny what I am." Scott vowed.

Hank lowered his blue eyes from Scott's deep red glasses and slowly nodded. "I'm just a doctor now." he murmured. "I get to do what I do best and if pretending to be human allows me to continue doing what I do best, then I'll pretend."

"And I'll keep working so that you won't have to always pretend." Scott said.

Hank chuckled. "Not tonight, however."

"What are you talking about?" Scott asked.

"You need a box of Twinkies and a case of beer tonight." Hank replied.

"That sounds disgusting." Scott said.

"It won't sound so bad once I get that case of beer in you." Hank grinned.

"I don't know." Scott waffled. "I should… There are things I need to do."

"Shut up." Hank answered.

Hank threw his large arm around Scott's shoulders and dragged the stammering man from the medical bay.


	11. Thoughtlessness and Desperation

11 Thoughtlessness and Desperation:

"Check." Kitty giggled as she moved her bishop into position.

Peter gulped and hastily moved his king over. Kitty smirked as she slid her rook into place.

"Check." she repeated.

"You are too good, Katya." Peter murmured, a feeble attempt to buy himself more time.

"Are you going to make your move yet?" Kitty teased.

Peter blushed crimson and clutched his king with his enormous fingers. Truthfully, Kitty could have ended the game six turns back if she had felt like it, but she really enjoyed toying with the Russian boy. It didn't hurt that he was utterly adorable, especially when he blushed.

Logan walked past the two teens and headed for the couch. He slouched back into the leather cushions and kicked his feet up on the coffee table. All he needed now was a beer in one hand and a pretty girl on his arm and he'd be one happy man.

Rogue plopped down next to him. "Hi." She grinned.

Logan smiled inwardly at the fleeting fantasy that the pretty girl had an ice cold beer for him. No such luck, but it could have been worse.

"Hey." he greeted.

"Hi."

Bobby squeezed onto the couch, dividing Logan from Rogue. The boy sported a pair of black silk gloves to match Rogue's white ones. Logan shook his head and grabbed the television remote from the coffee table.

The everyday din of the school seemed to grate at the mutant with exceptional hearing's sanity. From Kitty's incessant "Check's" to the stupid things Bobby was whispering for Rogue's ears alone to Rachel standing in the doorway, silent save for controlled breaths. A normal person could just ignore it, but Logan had never been normal. The noise the television offered could at least dull the sounds of life.

Smell was just as horrible. Beer would help that. But the professor didn't want Logan to drink in front of the students. A bad example for young impressionable minds. Those kids weren't as innocent as Xavier would like to pretend. The amount of lustful pheromones that penetrated Logan's nostrils was enough to make the man want to puke and that was only Kitty. If he concentrated enough on the odors that Bobby was emitting he was certain that he would dice the teen into a million pieces.

The television screen faded into a photo montage of smiling pictures of a politician with dyed brown hair and polished teeth. Graydon Creed surrounded by puppies, Graydon Creed with a child on his lap, Graydon Creed with the elderly, Graydon Creed being Graydon Creed. Inspirational music played in the background while a bland narrator spoke about what kind of leader American needed: Graydon Creed.

"Just what America needs." Bobby rolled his eyes.

"When is the election going to take place?" Rachel asked.

Rogue lazily turned around to peer over the back of the couch. Kitty set her knight down on the chessboard and flashed Peter a smile before she looked up at Rachel. Peter's face drooped when he looked at his king's pathetic position.

"It's still a little while away." Kitty said. "Do you plan on voting?"

"What's a little while?" Rachel asked.

"Why? Do you still need to register?" Kitty wondered.

"I just need a date." Rachel insisted.

"Why are you so interested in the election?" Logan asked.

"It's important." Rachel shrugged.

"What's so important about it?" Logan wanted to know.

Kitty opened her mouth, but Peter quickly put his hand on her arm and silenced her.

Rachel shook her head. "You wouldn't believe me if I told you." she muttered.

"I've been known to believe some crazy things." Logan retorted.

"This is a little too crazy, even for you." Rachel replied.

"Try me." Logan dared.

"Logan, why don't you cut it out?" Bobby cut in hesitantly.

Logan spared a moment to raise his eyebrows in Bobby's direction. Bobby swallowed hard and retreated back to Rogue's arm.

"Well?" Logan asked.

"It's not that big of a deal." Rachel said. She wrapped her arms tightly around her boney ribs.

"Then you wouldn't mind explaining things, would you?" Logan's eyes were narrowed. The Wolverine had cornered its prey.

"I don't need to explain anything." Rachel glowered at him.

"Knock it off!" Rogue demanded.

"You know, it doesn't matter." Rachel tucked her hands behind her back, then thought better of it and pulled them in front of her. "I was going to go take a walk anyway."

The redhead turned around and slipped out the door. Logan turned back to the television as if nothing had happened. Bobby looked as though he wanted to say something until Rogue shook her head. Kitty moved her queen.

"Checkmate." her voice echoed through the rec. room.

Peter sighed and looked over at Logan. "Shouldn't someone go after her?" he asked. "To see if she is not upset?"

"No." Logan said. "If she's upset she's not going to want to see anyone in this room."

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Rachel dashed through the corridors of the school. Her memory seemed hazy anymore, but if she could trust it then she just needed to take a right, another right, then a left.

There was a door alright, but knowing her luck it probably led to a janitor's closet. Rachel turned the handle and leaned against the door with all her weight. The door creaked and she was greeted with a gust of wind from the outside air.

The assorted flowers and plant life had seen better days. Since Ororo had taken a leave of absence from the school much of the gardening had been neglected. But the rich canvas of greens, reds, yellows and purples was still much better than Rachel was accustomed to. Her world had been painted in blacks and grays.

Rachel stepped cautiously into the courtyard; her fingers grazed the petals of a nearby lily. Soft, like velvet. She would have to remember that sensation.

It was too perfect at Xavier's mansion. And safe, she reminded herself. But it wouldn't always be that way. Rachel plucked the lily from the soil. If her hair had been longer, she would have adorned it with the flower. She tugged at the fluff of bangs on the top of her head. Those bastards had shaved her. More hygienic.

And Logan wanted to know what she was hiding. Rachel supposed she could have told the man, she could have told everyone. But what would have been the point in that? It was bad enough that she alone would wake drenched in cold sweat from nightmares, that the mere thought of a leash made her want to curl up into a ball and wail like a helpless babe. She had enough fear in her heart for them all; she didn't need to share that with anyone else.

So she meandered through the courtyard and hoped that she would find the strength in her somewhere to do what she needed. That's when Rachel noticed him, or sensed him rather. Hunched over on a marble bench lost in thought, Scott Summers looked horrible.

His face was slack and unshaven, his hair unkempt. The pale yellow sweater he wore looked as though it had been slept in. Rachel edged closer to him.

Mr. Summers? she called out telepathically.

Scott's head snapped to attention. His eyes behind their ruby quartz prison darted around looking for the intruder.

"Over here." Rachel waved. "Are you okay?"

"Yeah." Scott nodded. "It's just that you used your mind to talk to me."

"I was trying not to startle you." Rachel said. She rolled the stem of the lily back and forth between her hands. "Do you not like psychic communication?"

"No. I just, well…" Scott sighed. "There was really only one person that I ever had conversations like that with."

"Oh." She tried to smile. "Mind if I sit?"

"No. Not at all." Scott moved over on the bench and made room for her.

Rachel gingerly sat down. "You don't look so hot." she said.

"It's Hank's fault." Scott replied. "He decided I needed to drink myself to death."

"Did it work?" Rachel asked.

"Not really." Scott admitted. "But I do know now that Twinkies don't taste as good coming up."

"Gross." Rachel stuck out her tongue, the dainty metal stud reflected the afternoon light.

"Yeah." Scott nodded. "I'm sorry. You really didn't need to hear that."

"It's alright." Rachel replied. "What are you doing out here?"

Scott didn't answer.

Not one to be discouraged, Rachel shrugged and offered the lily to Scott. He stared blankly, but didn't refuse the flower. The stem had been bent, a casualty of the passage from Rachel's hand to his. She cocked her head to one side and studied the man quietly.

Scott finally blinked and bent forward with the flower. He set the lily delicately on a smooth stone plaque in the ground in front of the bench. Rachel bit her lip. The plaque hadn't been around long enough to be worn from the elements and the lettering was still bold and crisp. _Beloved friend, beloved daughter.__ Jean Grey 1965-2003._

"Do you come here often?" Rachel whispered.

"Every day." Scott replied.

"It doesn't make anything better, does it?" Rachel murmured. Her head sunk down into her shoulders and she averted her eyes.

"I won't forget her." Scott promised. "I don't care what anybody else does. I won't forget her."

"You wish it was you, don't you?" Rachel asked. She kept her face rigidly straight ahead of her.

"Do you even have to ask that?" Scott grabbed the edge of the bench tight enough to drain the color from his knuckles.

"It's not fair." Rachel sighed. "You'd give your life for theirs, anything just to see them again. But you can't, because they were stupid and died protecting you. And now all you can think about is how it's your fault, weren't fast enough, smart enough, strong enough, brave enough, lucky enough."

A single tear escaped her eye. A precious thing, blood red through his glasses.

"And now you're the last one left. All alone." Rachel finished.

"You too?" Scott whispered hoarsely.

"It's scary." she said.

Scott drew Rachel's face over to him with a gentle hand. With the heel of his palm he smeared the tears that cut across her face.

"Thanks." Rachel offered a small smile.

They sat frozen for a moment. Her wide eyed, tear streaked face entranced by his solemn expression, his true intentions concealed by his ruby quartz glasses.

"You know, we never even found a body." Scott said.

"His name was Franklin." Rachel replied.

"She was my life."

With a rough hand Scott grabbed the collar of Rachel's shirt and pulled her mouth to his. An act of thoughtlessness and desperation. Rachel quickly flattened her hands against his chest and tore herself from his lips.

Scott sat dazed, while Rachel pawed haplessly at her open mouth.

"I'm sorry." Scott stammered. "I just thought that—"

"I'm not Jean." Rachel interrupted almost frantically. "I can't make the pain go away."

Scott glanced over at the plaque. His lips pulled back in what first appeared to be a grimace, a flash of angry teeth, but it became very clear that it was a repressed sob. His chest ached, his eyes felt like fire.

His Adam's apple bobbed painfully as he took a deep breath. "I miss her so much."

Rachel shook her head and led Scott into the safety of her arms. She cupped his head against her chest as grief overwhelmed him. Rachel rocked him gently, a mother soothing her child. Her soft humming was lost in his sobs.


	12. Side Projects

12 Side Projects:

"What happened to you?"

Hank quirked an eyebrow as he glanced at his assistant. "Interesting. I was going to ask you the same thing."

Warren shot the doctor a petulant look. "What do you mean?"

"Do you mean to tell me that your particular choice in garments wasn't influenced in the least by unspeakable activities that you and your lady friend engaged in last night?" Hank gestured crudely to Warren's turtleneck.

"Whatever 'unspeakable activities' that you're talking about I can assure you that it was between two consenting adults." Warren snorted. "Should I just assume that you and Trish had an argument and shut up?"

"You'd assume wrong then, my friend." Hank replied. "Trish isn't quite tall enough to blacken my eye. She cracks ribs."

Warren raised an eyebrow. "I take it that I don't want to know."

"Nothing too horrible, I assure you." Hank said. "I was just helping an old friend."

"It seems pretty bizarre to me to have a friend break your face." Warren muttered.

"So it would seem." Hank sighed. "Here. I'd like you to write up some new labels. My handwriting's too illegible anymore."

"Of course." Warren accepted the stack of paperwork that Dr. McCoy presented him with. The younger man sat down on a stool and pulled a pen from his pocket.

Hank exchanged one slide for another and peered anxiously through the microscope. He shook his head, perplexed and again replaced the slide with another.

"Dr. McCoy, what are all these files on?" Warren flipped through the stack of papers in his lap.

"Just a little side project." Hank muttered. He scowled over the microscope.

"It looks to me like you've been getting more and more side projects." Warren brooded. "First that Rachel girl and now this one. HIV, AIDS, hepatitis, cancer… what's all this about?"

"Most cancers. Like leukemia. I'm sure that smoking would still be detrimental to a mutant's health regardless of any healing factors." Hank corrected. "I told you that my notes are illegible. I ran some tests with the X-gene. As it turns out mutants are immune to several diseases that mankind has no cure for."

"But what about what you and I have been working on for the past few months?" Warren insisted. "Did you give up on that?"

"But isn't it amazing what the X-gene is capable of?" Hank continued. "Not only do we have powers, but we're immune to disease. What else?"

"Are you sure all mutants are immune or is it just a few?" Warren grumbled.

"I have numerous DNA and blood samples." Hank replied. "This school of Xavier's is an untapped treasure trove for research."

"Who cares about the X-gene?" Warren argued. "I thought you and I decided to find a way to eradicate it so that we could just be normal."

Warren pounded his fist on a countertop for effect. Hank blinked and let silence envelop them.

"Well?" Warren demanded.

"Trish found out." Hank said hoarsely.

"She left you, didn't she?" Warren shook his head, somber.

Hank chuckled to himself. "No. No she didn't." He laughed again.

"Well what then?" Warren's blue eyes narrowed with frustration.

"She doesn't have a problem with it at all." Hank looked dumbfounded. "She loves me, Warren."

"So you're just going to give up on our work?" Warren asked.

"I don't see the need for it anymore." Hank confessed.

"You don't see the need for it?" Warren leapt to his feet. "Have you lost your mind? Does the Mutant Registration Act mean anything at all to you? Maybe you and your ape-like proportions can blend in with humans but what about me?"

"You had them surgically removed." was Hank's half-hearted argument.

"And the damned monstrosities grew back!" Warren countered. "If you don't want to continue this, that's fine, but you have to tell me. There's a Dr. Essex that's been researching mutant DNA also, I'll just take my funding to him."

"Warren, I'm not trying to get you angry, I just want to be positive that this is the right course of action." Hank kept his voice low and calm.

"How could it not be?" Warren spat bitterly. "I can't even go to a store and buy a shirt anymore without needed it altered."

"What I mean to say is that there won't be a single 'cure-all' injection." Hank bowled over his assistant's complaints. "Just a glance at two different sets of mutant DNA will tell you that much. I have a prototype, but I'm uncertain about it as of yet."

"Let me take it." Warren said quietly.

"No. Didn't you just hear what I said? I said that I'm uncertain about it." Hank tried to stare down his assistant.

"What better way to be certain?" Warren argued. "If it doesn't work, what's the worst that could happen? But if it did, think of the breakthrough we'd be responsible for."

"What if it kills you?" Hank demanded. "I won't take that risk. I need more time. I need to take more tests."

"You need to stop dancing around this!" Warren exploded. "Stop playing at school physician and do what you've been paid to do."

"I know where my priorities are." Hank insisted.

"Then prove it." Warren said. "Let's do it. Let's test this prototype."

An angry streak of blonde hair obscured Warren's eyes. He began to roll up his shirt sleeve.

"I didn't design it with your DNA in mind." Hank murmured.

"It's for you?" Warren wasn't asking.

"I'd like more time." Hank said softly.

A pulsing vein emerged in Warren's forehead but he controlled himself. "A week." he said sternly. "I'll give you a week to finish up your testing. Then I want to see this prototype put to use. You can use it, or you can concoct one for me to use."

"What if I'm not ready?" Hank ventured.

"Then I'll take our data and your funding to Dr. Essex." Warren answered.

"Fair enough." Hank nodded grimly.

"I thought so." Warren agreed. "I should go now. I've got things to take care of."

Hank didn't bother to look up as Warren left. Instead, the doctor took a seat before his work.

"Oh dear." he murmured. "Oh dear."

------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

"I'm pleased that you could find some time off from your busy schedule to meet with the rest of us." Erik said.

The blue mutant, Mystique smirked knowingly as the older man brooded over a cup of tea. Their chemistry was set on edge by the sound of angry flicks of a lighter. St. John Allerdyce stood behind Magneto's left arm, a dark expression on the boy's face as he watched Mystique.

Mystique glided to her seat like liquid. She spared the teen an aloof glance that chilled him.

"So." Erik paused to sip his tea. "I hear that Robert Kelly's campaign agenda is rather hectic at the moment. But so is Graydon Creed's."

"I think that this has gone on long enough." Mystique's smooth voice cut through the air. "We should have taken care of Creed already."

"Patience, Raven." Erik chided. "If you were a wolf, would you devour your young?"

Mystique kept silent, but her yellow eyes spoke murder. John shut his lighter with a rigid snap. Erik gave the boy a stern look.

"The longer this goes on, the more risk, right?" John spoke up.  
Mystique let a smile grace her lips as she looked at Erik. The old man seemed undisturbed as he quietly drank his tea, but John's lighter was wrenched from the boy's grip and landed on the table before the Master of Magnetism.

"You are both too hot blooded." Erik said. "This is business, Raven. You promised me it wouldn't turn into a personal vendetta."

"You also promised that we would kill Creed." she retorted icily.

"Oh we will." Erik smiled. "We will."

"Let me do it." Mystique urged.

"No." Erik said. "You need to be Kelly. I'll not have it look like it was his camp's doing."

Mystique scowled.

"Then who?" John asked. "I'll do it if you want."

"No, Pyro." Erik answered. "You are more valuable elsewhere."

"So you want to do it?" Mystique accused. "You have no right to rob me of this for your own personal glory."

"Hardly." Erik chuckled. "I need to be free to ensure that you all behave and do as you're told. Victor will do it."

"Victor?" Mystique's beautiful face contorted with rage. "That animal has already done enough! How dare you allow him the one thing I deserve?"

"Enough." Erik warned. "I need you as Kelly. Let him do the mindless slaughtering, your subtle finesse is more beneficial in other areas. Have you lost sight of what we are planning?"

"What about me?" John asked. "You said you needed me."

"I do." Erik spared the boy a curt smile. "Xavier and his students have emotional ties to you."

"So?"

"So, I need you to keep them busy."


	13. Masks

13 Masks:

"Liebchen, are you in there?" Kurt knocked on the door to the dorm room.

Inside, Rachel looked up from the photo album she was flipping through. She snapped it shut and shoved it under her bed.

"Door's open," she called out.

Kurt edged the door open and crept through. From the bed, Rachel offered a wave.

"Dr. McCoy wanted to see you," Kurt said. "He seems to think he's figured something out about your prosthetics."

"Really?" Rachel frowned. "Okay. I'll be down in a little bit."

She flopped down on her bed. Kurt made no move to leave.

"You okay, elf?" she asked.

"I suppose I'm a little blue." Kurt smirked.

Rachel rolled her eyes and groaned. "Don't be a goon!"

"I deserved that." Kurt nodded. "Truthfully, I'd like to ask you some questions. If I may."

"Shoot." Rachel patted her mattress in invitation.

Kurt sat down next to her hesitantly.

"You don't mind that I wish to question you?" he asked.

"You're welcome to ask." Rachel grinned. "But depending on what the questions are, I may be inclined not to answer."

"Oh," Kurt murmured. "Nevermind."

Kurt stood and began to walk away. Rachel stopped him by bringing her hand to his wrist.

"Hey," she protested. "I was only teasing. Ask away."

"Alright." Kurt sat back down on the bed. "It's about your face."

"My face?" Rachel raised an eyebrow. "What's wrong with my face?"

"Nothing," Kurt replied. "It's just that when Scott first brought you here, it was tattooed."

"Oh." Rachel sighed. "That."

"You don't want to talk about it," Kurt decided.

She swallowed. "That depends. What do you want to know?"

"You made them disappear," he said. "How?"

"Keep a secret?" Rachel asked.

"Cross my heart," Kurt promised.

"They're still there," Rachel said. "They didn't just vanish."

"What do you mean?" Kurt asked. "I can't see anything."

"It's a trick," Rachel explained. "You can't see them because I projected a suggestion that you shouldn't."

She reached over for his hand. Rachel brought Kurt's three fingers to her cheek and made him trace a random scar.

"It's called a psychic mask," she said. "Basically, I project a suggestion of how I want to be viewed and most people accept it."

"Most people?" Kurt asked.

"Well, some very intuitive people may suspect that something's wrong or a powerful telepath could see through the mask if they felt like it," Rachel replied.

"Could you create a psychic mask for someone else?" Kurt whispered. The man's yellow eyes glowed brightly in the dim dormitory light.

"That was all you wanted?" Rachel murmured. "To look human?"

"To look normal," Kurt replied.

Rachel nodded. "Okay. Let's move in front of the mirror."

The two stood up and headed over to the vanity against the wall. Rachel motioned for Kurt to sit in the chair, then walked behind him. Rachel took a few deep breaths before she brought her hands up on either side of Kurt's head.

"Let's see…" Rachel muttered. "Humans don't have pointy ears. So let's get rid of those."

She brought her hands around his ears and as she grazed his flesh, the tips appeared to be rounded off.

"You need a new dental plan, pal." Rachel swiped a hand over his mouth. "And those eyes… Blue? No, you're probably sick of blue. How about brown?"

A small gasp escaped Kurt's mouth as he stared back at his dark eyed expression. "Mein Gott…" he murmured.

Rachel chuckled softly. "We're not done yet. You're still blue."

She placed her hands at the top of his crown and slowly pulled them downward. Caucasian skin trailed her fingertips.

Kurt Wagner looked human. He immediately brought his five fingered hand up to his face in awe.

"It's just a mask," Rachel said. "You can still feel your fur can't you?"

"Ja." Kurt nodded. "But it is amazing. I look beautiful."

"But what's more amazing is that a mutant with the face of a demon is still strong enough not to become the demon everyone suspects him to be," Rachel replied.

"Rachel, I meant—"

With a flick of her wrist, the psychic mask on Kurt rippled then disappeared.

"The Kurt Wagner I know doesn't have to look beautiful, because his person is beautiful," she interrupted coldly. "He doesn't feel sorry for himself."

"What about Rachel, then?" Kurt asked quietly. "Why does she feel the need to hide her true face?"

"I…" she faltered.

Rachel turned away from him. "It's different."

"How so, child?" Kurt pressed.

"Those markings on your body." Rachel gestured vaguely behind her. "Why are they there?"

"I put them there," Kurt answered.

"There's the difference," she replied. "You wanted them there."

"If you didn't want them there, why did you put them there?" Kurt asked.

Rachel laughed. "You think I actually had a choice in the matter? No, those are a symbol of what I was."

"What you were?"

"They are a symbol of shame," Rachel said. "I can't stand to look at them. I need to go see Dr. McCoy."

Rachel dashed out of the room. Kurt was left in front of the vanity, staring at the mirror.

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The knock on the door was all that Hank McCoy needed to shove the prototype into a drawer. He nervously smoothed some stray papers on his desk.

"Come in."

Rachel's unkempt head peeked through the door hesitantly. "You wanted to see me?"

"Yes. I did." Hank smiled. He nudged his glasses back up his nose with a pinky. "Come in."

Rachel shuffled in and plopped down on a nearby stool.

"I see you've been eating," Hank noticed.

"You say it like that's a problem." Rachel chuckled.

"Hardly," Hank replied. "Your eyes aren't as sunken in. It's a good thing."

"Sunken in? Was it really that bad?" she asked.

"It certainly wasn't the healthiest," Hank said. "But you seem to be making a full recovery."

"Kurt said you wanted to talk about my prosthetics." She crossed her legs, then thought better of it.

"Yes, I did." Hank nodded. "I called up some colleagues, followed up on some sources and finally looked on the internet. But I think I found something."

"Oh?" Rachel said. "And what's that?"

"I don't believe that that device in your tongue is necessary," Hank said. "It actually looks like an advanced version of a prototype that belongs to Rory Campbell."

"So you want to remove it?" Rachel ground her teeth.

"If I may," Hank affirmed.

"No."

"Rachel that device isn't supporting your life functions in any way," Hank argued. "I don't see why there would be any reason for you to disagree with—"

"I said no," she repeated. "I knew you just wanted to dissect me. Why not string me up and pump me full of new diseases just to see what will happen to my mutant DNA also?"

"Now, I think you're overreacting." Hank tried to put a calming hand on the girl's shoulder, but Rachel brushed it aside. "Dr. Campbell explained to me in full detail—"

"I don't care about Dr. Campbell!" she hollered. "Dr. Campbell had nothing to do with the parts on me. A man named Forge gave me my new arm and leg. I won't have you accidentally kill me in the name of science."

"Forge?" Hank's glasses slipped down his nose. He ignored them. "As in the middle-aged Cheyenne gentleman named Forge?"

Rachel gaped at the doctor. "You know him?" she managed finally.

"Of course. He was one of the first that I conferred with over the mystery of your limbs," Hank replied. "He claimed no knowledge about them. And I believed him. If he had known about your technology, I'm sure he would have used it to replace his own prosthetic leg."

Hank faced the redhead squarely. Rachel looked up at him, her jaw hanging open.

"Now. Can we have a polite, adult discussion?" he asked quietly.

Rachel sprang up from her seat and ran out of the medical bay. Hank watched her leave and shook his head.

"How peculiar," he murmured.


	14. Scent

14 Scent:

Author's Note: Oops… I accidentally said that Forge was Navajo. He's really Cheyenne. I went back and corrected the error.

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Coffee beans were in the filter, the water was poured. All Scott Summers had to do was flip the switch and watch the beverage percolate.

"The coffee smells good."

Scott looked up from the coffeepot to see Kurt's cordial grin.

"Help yourself," Scott offered.

"Danke." Kurt's smiled widened.

"I thought you were more of a beer drinker." Scott tried to make casual conversation as he reached for a coffee mug in the cupboard.

"I enjoy a good brew, but it wouldn't look good for superheroes to develop beer guts, ja?" Kurt replied.

Scott shook his head and poured his coffee. Two heaping spoonfuls of creamer, no sugar. He passed the coffeepot to Kurt.

"With an expression like that I assume you've also been grading papers," Kurt said.

Scott chuckled. "No," he replied. "I've just been a little under the weather. How did your German test go?"

"You do not wish to know, mein freund," Kurt assured.

Scott nodded and inhaled the fresh steam from him mug. He sat at the table and let his hands soak up the warmth from his coffee cup. The only sound was Kurt's tail slapping against the floor as the blue demon prepared his coffee.

"Dr. McCoy was black and blue the last time I saw him," Kurt said. "Do you know what that was about?"

Scott shifted in his seat. "I lost my temper," he said stiffly.

"That doesn't sound like you at all," Kurt mused. "What happened?"

"We were talking and I got angry." Scott shrugged.

"You look as though you are still angry," Kurt noted. His yellow eyes reflected the light from above the stove as he joined Scott at the table.

"No. I'm done with that." Scott sighed.

"Are you?"

"Yes. Hank was pushing me," Scott said. "Purposely. He knew it, I knew it. But when he said that Rachel looked like Jean, I lost it."

"So you hit him?" Kurt set his coffee aside.

"Yes." Scott began to talk into his mug. "I also went and made an idiot of myself in front of Rachel."

"I doubt you did any serious harm," Kurt replied. "The child has taken quite a liking to you. Dare I say a school girl crush?"

Scott leaned back in his chair and laughed. "School girl crush?" he said. "I kissed her out in the courtyard and she pushed me away. I kissed her right in front of Jean's memorial plaque."

Outside the kitchen, Logan's keen hearing picked up all he needed to hear. Without disturbing the other two men he headed swiftly through the corridors. A twitch to the man's nostrils was the only outward sign that he was tracking something specific.

As Logan neared his prey, the lighthearted giggles of teenaged girls entered his ears. He rounded a corner and stalked towards the rec. room.

In front of the T.V. Bobby looked exasperated as he explained the concept of Halo to Peter. The hulking Russian boy sat quietly, a curious expression on his face as he rolled the Xbox controller over in his hands.

At a flimsy table, Rogue had a helpless look on her face as she watched Kitty and Jubilee bicker over the rules to Texas Hold 'Em. Rachel sat nearby a weary smile on her lips.

"Hi Logan." Rogue's eyes found him immediately. The girl grinned, relieved for the interruption.

Logan spared her a glance out of courtesy, before he pointed an accusatory finger at Rachel.

"We need to talk, doll," he growled.

Peter immediately abandoned his controller and headed over to the girls to be a barrier between Logan and Kitty. Bobby quickly followed suit and placed a comforting hand on Rogue's shoulder.

"Talk? I don't understand…" Rachel murmured.

"Well understand this," the Wolverine snarled. "You smelled wrong since the moment Cyclops brought you in here."

"I bathe regularly." Rachel's laugh came out too high pitched. The girl stood up and seemed to be backing towards the door.

Wolverine sensed this and cut off her exit. "I couldn't figure out what it was until now."

"Logan, please," Rogue pleaded.

"Why the hell does your scent resemble Jean Grey's?" he demanded.

Rachel's eyes darted desperately around the group that had gathered. Bobby had deep furrows in his brows, while Peter simply looked cautious; Kitty's large brown eyes seemed to be analyzing everything, Rogue was obviously worried, Jubilee was thrilled. No one made a move to excuse themselves from the room.

The muscles in Rachel's shoulders slowly relaxed. "You wouldn't believe me if I just told you," she said. "I wish there was some way you could just scan my mind."

"I'm sure Chuck would love to," Logan suggested.

"No!" Rachel exclaimed so suddenly the Wolverine's claws were unsheathed.

"Why not?" Kitty asked quietly.

"If I let the professor scan my mind, he'd see what I intend to do," Rachel confessed. "He wouldn't agree to it."

"What makes you think I'd agree to it?" Logan wanted to know.

"Because of what's at stake," Rachel replied.

"How do we see into your mind, then?" Logan sighed. His claws finally retracted.

Rachel turned her gaze to Rogue.

"No."

Everyone turned to face Bobby Drake's narrowed ice blue eyes.

"Not your decision, kid," Logan said.

"I said no," Bobby repeated.

"Bobby," Rogue murmured.

"No, I won't let you do this to yourself," Bobby insisted. The blonde teen turned angrily to Logan. "You have no idea what that does to her."

"Enlighten me," Logan replied.

Kitty grabbed the hem of Peter's shirt like a child as the tension rose. Jubilee pulled up a chair.

"It's not just memories," Bobby argued. "It's like someone else is sharing her head with her. You don't remember because you were unconscious, but she'd talk to herself, but with two different accents. Two different voices vying for control of her body. Her and _you_. What happens if she loses and gets swallowed up by all the other voices in there?"

"Still not your choice," Logan said.

"Rogue, don't do this," Bobby begged. "It's not good, don't do this to yourself."

"Logan?" Rogue looked at the older man, her lips pursed.

"Not my choice, either," Logan replied.

"Do you think Ah should?" she asked.

"I think you should do what you think is right," Logan said. "I won't blame you either way."

"Do you trust me?" Rachel asked.

"No," Rogue answered. "But Ah'll do it."

"Rogue!" Bobby protested.

The boy found a gloved fingertip pressed against his lips. He kissed her finger and she smiled.

"Ah'll be fine," Rogue promised.

Rogue peeled the white glove off of her right hand and gave it to Bobby for safekeeping. Her hand gently grazed Rachel's cheek. As soon as the redhead gasped, Rogue tried to jerk her hand away. Rachel had anticipated as much and pinned the other girl's hand to her face with the strength of her mechanical arm.

"No," Rachel insisted. "You need to see everything."

The hold on Rogue's hand finally weakened as Rachel lurched forward, her tattoos once again cutting across her face, unconscious. Rogue wrenched her hand free and doubled over, clasping her skull.

"Rogue!" Bobby dove to his girlfriend's side. He gathered the girl up into his arms protectively while she shook.

"I told you this was a bad idea," he snapped.

"Rachel's okay, she's just out cold," Kitty offered. The brunette had found her way to Rachel to check the other girl's vital signs.

"But what about Rogue?" Bobby demanded.

"I'm okay." As Rogue lifted her head, her Southern accent slipped back into place. "Ah'm fine."

"And?" Logan asked.

"Ah believe her," Rogue said.

"Good enough for me," Logan replied. "What now?"

"Oh no, I can't believe I let it get to be so late," Rogue's accent fluctuated. "Logan, we need t'get to Graydon Creed now."

"_We_ ain't going anywhere, darlin'," Logan said. "You've had enough excitement for one day."

"You've got t'take Rachel," Rogue drawled. "They're going t'kill him an' that can't happen."

"And that's a bad thing?" Logan raised an eyebrow.

"I can't explain it right now," Rogue said. "Just take me… Ah mean Rachel an' save him."

"Alright." Logan scooped Rachel's limp form up into his arms. "I'm doing this for you, kid." He looked directly at Bobby. "Look after Rogue."

Bobby nodded. Logan hurried out of the room.

As he made his way down to the garage, he shifted Rachel from his arms to over his shoulder to make travel easier.

There was no way he would be able to put an unconscious girl on a motorcycle, so Logan went for Scott's car. Scott never left the keys in the ignition. Logan shook his head as he unsheathed a single adamantium claw.

"Are we going somewhere?"

With a bamf, the Incredible Nightcrawler was grinning in the back seat of the car. Logan shook his head ruefully.

"You have no idea," he muttered.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

"Victor, you're late," Mystique said. "I thought something tragic had happened. A pity."

Sabretooth turned his attention to the teenaged boy by Mystique's side. "I know she seems cold," he said. "But this frail loves to purr like a kitten. You just got to know how to treat her."

Mystique glared at the brutish man.

"Sabretooth," John said. "I thought the X-Men killed you at Liberty Island."

"I don't kill easy." Victor flashed his teeth at the boy.

"Like cockroaches," Mystique remarked.

"I missed you too, sweetheart," Sabretooth replied.

"Enough. I won't tolerate this kind of idiotic behavior," Magneto warned as he entered the room.

Mystique glided over to the silver haired man's side. John shifted his weight to his other foot while Sabretooth's smug grin only widened.

"Now, Raven, Victor. You two know what to do," Magneto said.

Mystique nodded as her indigo scales were replaced with the plump, sagging flesh of Senator Robert Kelly. She turned around and stormed out of the room, followed by Sabretooth.

"What about me?" John asked.

"You, my boy have a very special task." Magneto smiled as he put an arm around John's shoulder. "Follow me. I'll explain as we walk."


	15. Fire and Ice

Author's Note: FFnet is buggering up my format. It doesn't like the squigglies that I've been using for telepathic conversation for some reason. I've grudgingly flipped over to "/'s" instead. Grumble, grumble, grumble...

--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------  
15 Fire and Ice:

Warren knocked briskly on the door to the medical bay before he let himself in. Hank was seated inside, reading.

"Dr. McCoy," Warren began.

"Fascinating," Hank mused. "If Dr. Campbell's research is accurate, that implant has nothing to do with vital functions at all. It's a tracking device."

"Hank, what are you babbling about?" Warren asked.

"The implant in Rachel's tongue," Hank explained. "It's a tracking device. Rory designed them for his lab rats, but there's no reason why it couldn't be used on a girl."

"Dr. McCoy, I was wondering if you had come to your decision yet," Warren said.

"A week, Warren. You gave me a week," Hank answered curtly.

"I didn't mean to upset you," Warren replied. "I was just hoping that maybe you figured things out early."

Hank set his book down and looked at Warren, his jaw tense.

Any angry words that he intended to use were drowned out by the mansion's blaring alarm system.

/X-Men, we are under attack!/ Professor Xavier projected his voice into their minds. /Protect the children. There are already several fires started in different locations./

"Never a dull moment in this house," Hank quipped. "Come on, Warren. Let's save the day."

Warren grumbled to himself, but followed the larger man.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

"John?" Bobby gasped.

St. John Allerdyce was leaned against the rec. room's television casually. His signature Zippo lighter was being lit and snuffed out obsessively.

"You're back?" Bobby hoped.

"You could say that." John smirked.

"What are you doing here?" Kitty demanded. "There are half a dozen fires on this property just as you come waltzing in. What kind of coincidence is that?"

"John…" Bobby murmured.

"Katya!"

Flame exploded from the lighter as organic steel plated Piotr Rasputin's body. The Russian boy threw himself in front of the attack protecting the other teens in the room.

"Peter!" Kitty shrieked.

"Do not worry, Katya," he insisted. "I want you to phase everyone else out of this room."

"I'm taking you too," Kitty declared.

"No!" Peter shouted. "Metal's a conductor. Do not touch me. I will take care of this."

Kitty nodded and ran over to Rogue and Jubilee. John took notice and with a flick of his finger a ball of flame took the form of a bird and chased the girl. Peter took that opportunity to charge at Pyro which forced the other boy to concentrate all his power onto the Russian. The firebird vanished.

Kitty clasped the other two girls around their wrists and they sank through the floorboards. Bobby watched in horror as Peter tried to edge closer to John.

"John!" Bobby screamed. "What are you doing?"

John spared his former friend a sneer. "Hey, Bobby. I wonder what temperature steel melts at?"

The blaze grew and the hulking Colossus fell to his knees. Fire licked at the carpet and drapes and the dire situation began to dawn on the blonde haired boy.

"John, you're going to kill him," Bobby realized.

Beads of steel sweat rolled off of Peter's forehead and burned a hole into the floor.

"I always wondered what it felt like to be a god," John boasted.

Bobby crouched on the ground and touched his hands to the carpet. All available condensation in the air froze to form a wall protecting Peter from Pyro.

"What's this?" Pyro chuckled. "Does Bobby want to play at being hero?"

With a display of bravado, Pyro decimated the wall that Bobby had erected. The blasts of flame set off the mansion's sprinkler system dousing the boys with water. The overturned television crackled. Bobby shivered as he heard the sizzling noise of the water hitting Peter's heated metal flesh.

John beckoned to Bobby with an outstretched hand. "Come on, Iceman," he said. "Let's see what you're made of."

"You okay, Peter?" Bobby asked as he stepped in front of the Russian.

"I am alive," Colossus replied.

"Go get Cyclops," Bobby commanded.

"He's not going anywhere," Pyro snarled.

Another firebird erupted from his fingertips and devoured the doorway with fire.

"Are you insane?" Bobby cried. "You're going to trap yourself in here too!"

"I'll burn that bridge when I cross it," Pyro said simply.

"You idiot!" Bobby raged.

Iceman channeled a massive stream of frozen water, courtesy of the sprinkler system, at his enemy. Pyro fought back, steam spraying where their powers collided.

"Is that all you've got?" Pyro challenged.

"Big talk for a weakling who can't even create his own fire," Iceman countered.

"You're dead," Pyro growled.

"Says who?" Iceman formed a spike out of the air.

By the time the spike found Pyro, the mutant had melted off the point. The weapon's remains pelted Pyro in his shoulder just as the second one flew at him.

"Is this the best you've got?" Pyro erected a ring of flame around himself. "A glorified snowball fight?"

"Don't cry because you can't handle it," Iceman retorted.

"I leave the crying to girls, Bobby." The flock of firebirds surrounding Pyro flapped their wings, ready. "Once I get done melting your ass into a slushy little puddle, I'm going to finish off metal head over there. Then the fun begins. I get to chase down Rogue and make her squeal."

"If you so much as touch her I'll rip your heart out!" Bobby shouted hoarsely.

"Is that because you can't touch her yourself?" Pyro grinned maliciously.

Bobby didn't say anything. He only screamed as ice seemed to shoot out from his body at Pyro.

John's eyes widened as he quickly concentrated all of his energy into his Zippo. The lighter exploded interrupting Iceman's attack. John slammed into a wall, his body shivered from the cold, his eyebrows were singed. His weapon destroyed, John did the logical thing; he gathered the air back into his lungs, leapt to his feet and ran.

"He's getting away!" Peter hollered.

Bobby ignored him. He sat on the ground, dazed and held his hands out before him. Chunks of frost dangled from his fingertips, flesh replaced with living ice.

"Bobby! Peter!"

Rogue ran over to Bobby's side, followed by Kitty.

"Kitty an' me found Cyclops," Rogue explained. "He's going t'go after John."

"I think I need a doctor," Bobby murmured.

"As do I," Peter added.

"Oh my God, Peter!" Kitty gasped.

Although his organic steel prevented Piotr Rasputin's otherwise certain death, the boy was not without injury. The heat of Pyro's flames had welded several of the Russian's steel plates together. Most noticeably, Peter's right cheekbone was an indistinguishable blob of metal.

"You need to get to the medical bay, now," Kitty ordered.

The girl positioned her small frame beneath Colossus' enormous shoulder. Kitty heaved with all her might, a strained groan escaping her lips. Peter smiled and stood up on his own. He kept his arm draped around Kitty as to not bruise her ego.

"Bobby…" Rogue whispered.

"I think I'm just going to go stick my hands in the freezer," Bobby muttered.

Bobby hurried out of the wrecked room with Rogue trailing him.


	16. Flight

16 Flight:

St. John Allerdyce was desperate. Things weren't exactly happening as he had planned them. He had wanted to slip in, raise hell, then just as easily slip out.

So he thought he'd show off? After all, he was only toying with untrained students, not actual X-Men. When had Bobby grown a spine?

He must have struck a nerve, maybe when he mentioned Rogue. John reflected that it was probably fortunate that he hadn't had the time to spout out that choice bit about Bobby's mother that he had planned. People were too touchy anymore.

So he raced down the mansion's corridors while the alarms shrieked in his ears. John needed something, anything that would guarantee his survival until he could make it out of the mansion.

As he sprinted around a corner, he got an idea. The two children in head of him were huddled together. The small boy was trying to convince the frizzy haired redhead not to cry in a drawling Kentucky accent.

John snatched the girl up into his arms, only to have her scream with such a bloodcurdling intensity that a nearby window shattered. Theresa Rourke made a poor hostage. He dropped her immediately and the girl landed on her face. She began to wail, a mixture of pain and fear.

Samuel Guthrie found himself plucked from the ground by the seat of his pants as soon as he tried to scramble off. His mop of blonde hair fell over his eyes as John hoisted the boy under an arm. John took off in a full sprint again and Sam was jostled against the teen's hip uncomfortably.

As the young boy gathered his wits, he decided that the best course of action, much to John's dismay, was to scream. So as Pyro made his way to the roof, Sam kicked his legs madly, pounded his tiny fists against his captor's thigh and hollered as loud as his lungs would allow.

"John!"

The sound of Cyclops' voice only encouraged Pyro to run faster.

"Get away from me!" he demanded over a shoulder.

"I don't want to hurt you, John!" Cyclops called.

"Get away!" John repeated louder.

"Scott, wait! The fiend has Sam!"

Fiend? John wondered where Xavier scrounged up the melodramatic numbskull that was huffing after Cyclops. A lab coat and loafers weren't made for marathons. John decided that it would be in his best interest to ignore Cyclops, the golden maned pretty boy and the loser with glasses that trailed him.

Sam's incoherent yelps became more focused as he caught sight of his would be rescuers. So as the seven year old screeched incessant, "Mr. Summers'," John lunged up the stairs and kicked the door to the roof open.

Leaves brown and ochre scattered the rooftop. John ignored the muted crunching of his feet hitting the ground as he raced towards the ledge.

/John./

Instinctively, the teen looked to his left. Professor Charles Xavier sat patiently, a blanket on his lap. _The bastard has been waiting for me up here all along,_ John realized.

John stumbled backwards, away from the professor. He tripped and fell to the ground taking Sam with him. This renewed the boy's vigorous shrieks and John tightened his grip around Sam's middle.

"John, I just want to talk with you," Professor Xavier began.

"Save it," John snapped.

Cyclops and his hapless pair of friends crowded the doorway back to the mansion and cut off the teenager's escape.

"John, we don't want to hurt you," Xavier tried again. "But I can't allow for you to just run away. Let's talk."

"I'm not going to run away," John growled. He stood up and faced the professor squarely. "I'm going to walk. As long as I have this brat, you're not going to do anything."

Sam yelped as John swung the boy out from under his arm. He gripped a white knuckled hand around Sam's ankle and dangled the kid over the side of the building.

"That's a pretty big drop," John whistled. "I don't know, maybe three, four stories. Five if you count the attic with all of Storm's plants. Where is Storm anyway? She going to sneak up from behind me?"

"Storm isn't here anymore," Professor Xavier said.

"So she got sick of the weak ways you deal with things too?" John sneered.

"No. She had business to take care of in Cairo," Xavier answered.

"Whatever," John scoffed.

Cyclops and Hank had edged their way closer to John while Warren still guarded the doorway. Sam resorted to whimpering as he eyed the ground that awaited him.

"Do you really think that this is the answer, child?" Xavier pressed. "To threaten the life of an innocent boy, a mutant like yourself, simply because you're angry and afraid?"

"And your plan is so perfect?" John demanded. "Talk and smile and play the good pet mutant? Give me a break! You saw what Stryker did to his own kid. If human parents can do that to their own children, who the hell are mutants safe from?"

"Obviously not fellow mutants, as Sam can now attest to," Xavier replied. "John, we're all flawed, Stryker was no more evil for doing what he did to mutants than Erik was for trying to do the same thing to humans. Please, just put Sam down and talk to me."

The professor wheeled himself closer to John, his hands up for the teen to see.

"No!" John adjusted his grip on Sam's ankle. "Wolverine tried talking to those damn cops and they shot him in the head. I don't have an adamantium skull and I'm not going to let them do it to me!"

"So instead, you're going to attack everyone that may potentially stand in your way?" Xavier asked.

"I'm not going to—" John stammered. "Damn it, you're putting words in my mouth! Not anymore."

"I see." Professor Xavier nodded his head, his expression blank save for deep lines around his mouth.

"Now, me and Sam are going to walk out of this mansion and I'm going to let him go once I reach a safe distance," John said levelly.

"Why not release Sam?" Xavier urged. "You have my word that no one will try to stop you."

"I'm not about to just take my chances when I've got a guarantee," John retorted. He shook Sam over the ledge, eliciting a wail from the boy.

"I won't allow you to take Sam off of this property, John," Xavier said.

"You don't have much of a choice," John snarled.

"John, I've given you the benefit of the doubt so far, but this is going too far," Xavier warned. "You're endangering the life of one of my students and I can't permit it. Now, please end this and let us go our separate ways."

John stared into the professor's eyes and noticed how old his former mentor truly was. He tore his gaze from Xavier's and glanced over at Sam. Dark eyes met bloodshot blue; John narrowed his glare at the pink cheeked boy.

"Let me go?" Sam pleaded quietly.

As Sam looked desperately up at his captor, the older boy's façade cracked. His quivering lip matched the seven year old's.

"It's going t'be okay, isn't it?" Sam asked.

"I'm sorry," John whispered.

Cyclops visibly relaxed. His lungs seemed to be taking in the oxygen that nerves had kept out. Warren abandoned his watch at the door and slowly made his way towards Hank.

Silence enveloped the group. Xavier and John both appeared frozen, who was the overcautious wolf and who the startled deer was uncertain. A slight breeze rippled through the teen's hair, a leaf rustled about his feet.

John opened his hand. His decision made, the villain Pyro dashed for the door as Sam plummeted to the ground. With an instinctive display of agility, Hank lifted a protesting Warren up by his shoulders and hurled him over the side of the roof after the boy. Cyclops ran after Pyro.

"Scott!" Xavier's cry halted his first X-Man. "Let the child go."

Scott looked ready to protest until he saw his mentor's face. He nodded and walked towards the edge of the roof to join Hank.

Warren rose from the side of the building suspended in the air by enormous white feathered wings. A wide eyed Sam clung dazed to Warren's chest. Warren propelled himself forward to the roof and stepped back on the solid ground.

He shot Hank an agitated look. "You owe me a new shirt, McCoy."

"As good as done, my friend," Hank replied with a grin.

"Sir?" Sam drawled.

Warren glanced down at the small boy in his arms and raised an eyebrow. "Yeah?"

"Are you an angel?" Sam asked.

"You wish, kid," Warren replied.


	17. Lost Children

17 Lost Children:

"You've been avoiding me, haven't you?"

Startled, Hank knocked over his coffee. Fortunately, the doctor's fingers were nimble enough to snatch his paperback copy of Melville's Moby Dick away from the flood of brown liquid. Hank grabbed a nearby box of tissues and began to mop up the mess.

"Why? Have you been reading my mind?" he asked.

"You know I would never abuse such things," Professor Xavier sounded hurt. He wheeled himself into the middle of the medical bay and looked squarely at Hank.

Hank continued to clean his desktop. He kept his gaze directed at his work.

"It's just that you've conveniently worked your own schedule completely around my own," Xavier continued. "I'm sure that you will continue to do as you feel you must, but I would like to talk to you."

"Talk?" Hank peered around hesitantly. "About what?"

"I'm glad that you decided to come back," the professor said. "Despite what you may think, I've missed you. Perhaps it's old age, but the students here are like children to me. Each one that leaves is more painful than the last."

"Especially when you know that they'll never return." Hank nodded. "I always understood the risk of being an X-Man, Professor. But regardless of the dangers being so apparent, I would have never been able to convince myself that of all the people that could fall, that it ever would have been Jean."

A melancholy smile lit Charles Xavier's face. "It's part of what makes us human, Henry."

"Human? Not mutant?" Hank replied. "Forgive me. I know it wasn't your intention to quarrel with me."

"Your simply being here proves that we can put our differences aside for the moment at least," Professor Xavier said.

"So it seems," Hank agreed.

"Can I expect you in the cafeteria for dinner?" Professor Xavier asked.

"We'll see," Hank replied. "I still have a lot of work to do. After what just happened, it took quite some time to calm Sam down enough to make sure he truly was unhurt."

Xavier nodded. "He's a hero among his peers now. As the gossip spread around, Sam went from being a hostage to single handedly facing off against Pyro," he said. "How are Peter and Bobby?"

Hank sighed. "If Bobby really wanted to, I'm positive that he could transform his hands back to flesh. But I think he's afraid."

"And Peter?"

"I'm not so certain," Hank confessed. "If he reverts back to flesh, perhaps he'll be fine. Perhaps not. Perhaps he even lacks the capability until we can correct his organic steel. Maybe I should take him to the Muir Island facility for research. I don't know, Professor."

"I could call Dr. MacTaggert if that's what you wish," Professor Xavier offered. "I haven't seen Moira or Sean in a long time."

"I have some tests that I haven't run through yet with the boy," Hank said. "Maybe they'll reveal something."

"All you have to do is say the word, Hank," Xavier replied.

"Thank you." Hank began to flip through some papers on his desk.

"Oh Hank?"

"Yes?"

"It's good to have you back, son."

Hank watched the door close after the bald man. He turned back to his desk where an unmarked syringe sat ominously. He sighed.

Hank had never been able to put anything past his mentor before, but the man had made no mention of his plans. He rolled the syringe with his fingers as if all would become clear simply by gazing at the prototype from another angle. No such luck.

"Only one way, I suppose," Hank muttered.

The doctor walked over to the door and made certain it was locked. He stilled his trembling hand by occupying it with banding a tourniquet around his right-hand arm. In his nervousness he forgot a swab of iodine. Hank found an acceptable vein in his arm with a finger and reached for the needle.

His right hand in a tight fist, the needle found its mark with precision. Hank took a deep breath before he pumped the prototype into his body.

Nothing happened. He exhaled.

As he reached for the rubber strap on his arm, Hank was hit with a wave of nausea. Sweat beaded at the large man's forehead as he knocked a stack of papers off his desk. Hank snatched at a notebook, tried to scrawl notes before his vision completely blurred.

In illegible doctor's script, Hank managed, "I was wrong" before he collapsed on the cold floor.

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Professor Charles Xavier left the medical bay quietly. With a shake of his head, the older man wheeled himself to the elevator. His children would be waiting for him in the foyer. He would have preferred a cozier meeting place, but as it were, the rec. room was unavailable.

Scott greeted Xavier a floor up and walked by his mentor's side as they joined the cluster of students. Orange wreathes bedecked with Indian corn adorned the hallways and whole ears of corn and gourds decorated the main stairwell.

Jubilee was sprawled out on the stairs, a wad of pink gum stretched between her mouth and first finger. She flashed the professor a grin before she turned back to her sugary mess.

Sam had meanwhile earned the admiration of both Theresa and Lorna. The two girls were batting doe eyes at him, while his elephant ears were turning red from the attention. Roberto was sulking in a corner and Kitty had joined Jubilee on the stairs while Rogue stayed off to the side her eyes taking in everything.

"Is everyone accounted for?" Xavier asked.

"Bobby's in the freezer and refuses to come out," Scott said. "Peter's up in his room, sleeping. Being in his steel form puts quite a strain on him."

"I understand," Xavier murmured. "I see Jamie, all twelve of him. The boy should really absorb his duplicates. Hank's down in his lab, Artie's hiding behind Kitty… Where's Logan?"

"Probably on my bike," Scott muttered. Cyclops briskly strode off down the hallway towards the garage.

Warren Worthington looked extremely uncomfortable. He gave agitated tugs to the sleeve of his fine linen shirt. His large wings were still exposed after Warren forced them through the back of his shirt, but he kept them fretfully pinned close to his body.

The newly minted "Angel" made to walk towards Xavier, but was cut off by one of Jamie Madrox' copies as it dashed in front of him and ran to join Sam and the girls. Warren hesitated and settled back to his place against the wall when he felt Charles Xavier's eyes on him. He looked up to see the bald man give him an inviting smile. Warren sighed, he should have known that it was impossible to not be transparent to a telepath.

Careful not to step on the various children or their duplicates, Warren made his way to Xavier's left side.

"Professor Xavier?" Warren began.

"Yes, Mr. Worthington?" Xavier nodded.

"I'd like your permission to go home," Warren said. "It's not well known by most of my business associates that I'm a mutant. I'd like to get a fresh shirt to cover my wings."

"You don't need my permission," Xavier said.

"I felt that it was the only courteous thing to do was ask due to recent events," Warren replied.

Warren glanced past Xavier and the hallway behind him. He raised an eyebrow as Scott came jogging back.

"Professor, I think we may have a bigger problem on our hands," Scott announced as he hastily made it back to Xavier's side.

"Why do you say that?" the professor asked.

"Logan didn't take my bike," Scott explained. "He took my car."

"I don't understand," Warren said.

"Logan didn't go alone," Xavier stated.

"Rachel!" Scott realized.

"And Kurt," the professor added.

"Do Logan or Kurt have their comms on them?" Scott asked.

"Kurt may," Xavier answered. "But if they left without telling anyone, do you think they'd want us to find them?"

"Did you want me to make preparations for the Blackbird or one of the other vehicles?" Scott was grateful that his ruby quartz glasses masked a good part of his worried expression.

"In a moment, Scott," Xavier replied. "First we need to know where we are going and what we are up against."

The headmaster of the School for Gifted Youngsters wheeled himself into the center of the foyer. He cleared his throat and the din from the children died down.

"Can anyone tell me where Logan is?" Charles Xavier asked quietly.

The students were silent, save for the pop from Jubilee's bubble gum. The pink gunk splattered around her lips and nose, but she left it there, frozen. Kitty began to systematically study her knees.

"Well?" Professor Xavier's tone was stern.

Rogue stepped forward. As the group's eyes fell on her, she faltered and wrapped her arms around herself.

"Rogue?" Scott asked. He looked so boyish with a stray lock of dark brown hair flopping over the edge of his glasses. Their fearless leader's darting eyes were concealed by the dark red quartz, but his frown was clearly visible.

"Ah know where Logan went," Rogue said firmly.


	18. En Route

18 En Route:

"Are you sure she will be alright?"

"Yes."

"Positive?"

"Yes."

"What I mean to say is that she's been unconscious for a while."

"I said 'yes.' I've touched Rogue a lot longer than she did and I'm fine."

"Ja, but you were also unconscious for a little under a week. You also have an enhanced healing factor."

Rachel's eyes fluttered open slowly. She could see that the indigo blob was arguing with a tan smear. She blinked. The images started to solidify, but she still felt lethargic.

"Bus," Rachel groaned. "I just got hit by a bus."

From the backseat, Kurt placed a comforting hand on her shoulder. Rachel's head lolled back towards the new source of warmth.

"See?" Logan grunted. "She's fine, fuzzball."

"Your face, liebchen," Kurt whispered to Rachel.

She smiled at the yellow eyed man and assumed her psychic mask.

"Thanks, Elf," she murmured.

"Care to explain what the hell we're doing?" Logan asked gruffly.

"Rogue didn't?"

"No."

"It's Magneto and his Brotherhood or whatever they're calling themselves," Rachel explained. "They've realized the implications of what will happen if Graydon Creed is elected president. It'll be concentration camps, Sentinels and hounds for anyone with an X-gene."

"Sentinels and hounds?" Kurt asked.

"Not important." Rachel shook her head. "So they're going to kill him."

"So?" Logan growled. He rolled down his window and lit up a cigar. "The bastard deserves it."

"But think about it," Rachel insisted. "A group of muties off a guy who was concerned with the dangers of mutantkind. It proves him right."

"And turns Creed into a martyr," Kurt realized.

"Someone with mutant tolerant views isn't going to be elected president," Rachel continued. "The people are going to rally behind some militant jerk who's hell bent on ending the mutant menace."

"So we're looking for Magneto and his woman?" Logan decided.

"It'd be easier if that were the case," Rachel admitted. She gripped her seatbelt nervously.

Logan's knuckles turned white around the steering wheel. "What do you mean?"

"Magneto's included Sabretooth in his plans," Rachel said.

"Sabretooth's dead," Logan replied, a tendril of smoke curled out from his nostril. "I saw him pitch off the Statue of Liberty."

"Do you think you're the only one with a healing factor?" Rachel snorted. "Sabretooth has a taste for death. He's unpredictable. Either Magneto was desperate or is looking for a bloodbath."

"Or just stupid enough to think he can control him," Logan offered.

"So we need to only worry about Sabretooth?" Kurt asked.

"Mystique has to pose as Senator Kelly at this debate, so she'd only blow her cover if absolutely necessary," Rachel explained. "Sabretooth will be our first problem, but I'm sure that Magneto will be somewhere."

Their conversation was interrupted by a low buzzing. Kurt grinned sheepishly and motioned towards his belt loop.

"My comm," he explained. Kurt brought the comm up to his ear and pressed a button. "Yes?"

"Kurt?" Scott's voice crackled on the other end. "Thank God you picked up. I want you three to stay where you are. The professor and I are coming to get you."

Kurt shot Logan a questioning glance, who in turn looked at Rachel. The girl shook her head furiously.

"Sorry, One-eye, no can do," Logan replied.

"Logan, I'm serious," Scott's voice insisted.

"We've got a schedule to keep, so we aren't going to wait around for you and Chuck," Logan said. "You two are welcome to join the party."

Rachel flinched.

"This is exactly what I didn't want," she muttered.

"Logan, you're making a big mistake," Scott sounded strained. "You don't have the authority, I want you to wait."

"The decision's been made, bub," Logan replied. "Kurt, turn that thing off."

"My apologies, Scott," Kurt said as he flicked off the comm and Scott's ensuing protests.

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"Logan!" Scott raised his voice. "They turned their comm off."

"It was to be expected, Scott," Xavier replied calmly.

"But you know what Logan's capable of," Scott argued. The light glinted off of the man's ruby quartz visor dangerously.

"Yes," Xavier agreed. "That's precisely why Rachel chose him. He doesn't fear death."

"I don't mean to interrupt, but could someone explain to me what's going on?" Kitty Pryde asked from her seat in the Blackbird. The girl wore her leather X-Man garb cautiously and knotted her fingers in her brown hair to calm her nerves.

"If what I scanned from Rogue's mind is any indication of what Rachel has planned, we need to stop her," Professor Xavier said.

"But what am I doing here?" Kitty asked. "Shouldn't I be back at the school looking after Peter?" Her face flushed scarlet before she added, "and the others?"

"Scott and I are going to intercept Rachel and the others," Xavier replied. "Of everyone else remaining at the school, Kitty, you are the most qualified to fly the Blackbird. If the need for a hasty retreat is made, you'll be ready and waiting for us."

"Professor, are you sure it's necessary that you come with me?" Scott asked.

"Absolutely," Xavier affirmed. "The only way to combat a telepath is another telepath."

"Do you really expect Rachel to fight us?" Scott pressed.

"I pray that doesn't happen," Xavier replied. "But we need to be prepared for the worst."

"I think she's a good kid," Scott said.

The professor sighed. "Even good kids can get scared," he replied.


	19. Jedi Mind Tricks

19 Jedi Mind Tricks:

Author's Note: I borrowed heavily from the transcript of the October 1996 Dole/Clinton debate (Changed a name here, date there, hot topic etc) simply because I'm not very knowledgeable when it comes to politics. Sweeney Todd: The Demon Barber of Fleet Street is a musical by Stephen Sondheim. It's about a man that who escapes prison after he was wrongly accused of a crime. He poses as a barber and murders those that have wronged him. Mrs. Lovett disposes of Todd's bodies by grinding them up and putting them into meat pies that she sells. Tasty.

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"Hank?" Trish knocked on the door to the med lab.

Through the door she could hear music blaring. The shrill, unsettling voice of Angela Lansbury's soprano rang through the room as she operatically delivered Sweeney Todd's _The Worst Pies in London_. Remembering Hank's glee at explaining who the Demon Barber of Fleet Street was and how Lansbury's Mrs. Lovett benefited from him, Trish shuddered. She had scoffed at Hank, but secretly hadn't been able to eat chicken pot pie for a month.

Inwardly, she scolded herself for being apprehensive and smoothed a lock of hair behind her ear before she opened the door.

"Hank? Are you in there?" she asked. "Professor Xavier called me here to help look after the children while he went out."

Her words were overrun by a startled gasp. The med lab was in total disarray. Cots were turned over, a file cabinet was dented on its side, a window broken, a lamp smashed, the neck of the sink's faucet looked as though someone had tried to tie it into a knot. Amid scattered papers, tattered gauze and a puddle of iodine was the only untouched item in the room: the stereo from which Lansbury's voice mocked Trish.

"Hank? Oh my God, Hank, where are you?" Trish's eyes darted over the room.

She wandered over to the stereo and numbly flicked it off. Trish couldn't decide whether she preferred Angela Lansbury to the sound of nothing.

"Go away!" The voice was harsh, guttural.

"What have you done to Hank?" Trish demanded as she continued to scan the room. Sure, she had pepper spray in her purse, but she highly doubted it would be effective given the resonance of the voice.

"Go away!" the voice repeated, fiercer than before.

It was coming from her left, Trish could discern that much. She wagered it was probably hiding behind the cot that had been twisted around a cabinet. Trish knelt down and clutched what she assumed to a beam from one of the numerous broken bed frames in her manicured hands. She gave it a test swing in the air and gave a satisfied nod. It was no baseball bat, but the jagged metal end was sharp, so she was confident it could get the job done.

"I'm not leaving this room without Hank McCoy," Trish declared. "Where is he?"

After a pause, the voice spoke again.

"Hank McCoy is dead."

"Dead?" Trish's throat suddenly felt very dry. "Oh my God. It's not true."

"Leave."

"It's not true."

"Leave!" The intruder threw a phone at Trish.

She batted at the phone awkwardly with her metal beam.

"Where's Hank McCoy?" she demanded.

"McCoy is dead!" the voice screamed. A filing cabinet was thrown at her feet. "Leave now!"

"I'm not going anywhere," Trish growled.

A gasp escaped her lips as the creature revealed himself to Trish. His apelike structure was covered with thick blue-gray fur. The beast flashed her his fangs as he tossed a cot in her direction.

Trish quickly gathered her wits and stormed over to the creature.

"What have you done to Hank?" she demanded as she cracked her metal beam across the animal's ribs.

He clutched at his injured side with a clawed hand. Trish took that opportunity to aim for the back of his skull.

"What have you done to Hank?" she repeated viciously.

The creature had fallen to his knees and cupped his hands over his head for protection. Trish continued to beat it.

"Answer me," she screamed. "What have you done to Hank McCoy?"

"My stars, Trish!" the creature finally exclaimed.

"I'll give you stars," Trish growled. "And garters too."

She stopped mid-swing. "Garters?"

Trish limply released her weapon. The metal beam clattered noisily against the tiled floor and she dropped down besides the creature.

The beast looked up at her with his intelligent steel-blue eyes and Trish gingerly grazed her fingers across his furry cheek.

"Hank?"

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Rachel fidgeted incessantly as Cyclops and the professor joined her, Wolverine and Nightcrawler. Wolverine propped himself up against one of the Blackbird's wheels and pulled a cigar out from his shirt pocket.

"How soon are these events going to occur?" Xavier asked.

"An hour, tops," Rachel said.

"Then we best prepare ourselves," Xavier replied.

"Mystique and Creed will be on stage like sitting ducks, Sabretooth could be anywhere in the crowd," Rachel offered. "But he's always liked a hand's on approach, it won't be a snipe job."

"We should form a psi-link," Xavier suggested. "That way, no matter how spread out we become we can keep track of one another."

The muscles in Rachel's neck stiffened. "I'd rather not," she murmured.

"Is this really a situation where we can afford the luxury of choice, child?" Xavier asked.

Rachel bit her lip. "I can't do that," she insisted. "Please, don't make me."

"You don't have to do anything, Rachel," Xavier replied. "I'll do it for you."

With a slight nod of the bald man's head, all of their minds were joined. Rachel flinched as her brain was flooded with the thoughts of the others. Despite her shields, Scott's constant anxiety and profound sadness was apparent, as was Kurt's unwavering strength and conviction and Logan's noble, untamed spirit. She wanted to cry.

Scott reached out and placed a hand on the girl's shoulder.

"Are you alright?" he asked.

"Fine," Rachel managed. "I just haven't been in a psi-link with anyone for a very long time."

"Maybe you should keep Kitty company in the Blackbird," Logan suggested. "You've told us everything we need to know."

"No." Rachel shook her head.

"I wasn't asking," Logan replied.

"No, I need to be there," Rachel insisted.

"Chuck, I didn't need no psi-link to know this kid was afraid," Logan said. "She stinks of fear."

"I'm going," Rachel growled. "I need to be there."

"Suit yourself." Logan shrugged.

"Scott, you and Rachel will monitor the events directly by the stage," Xavier ordered. "Kurt will accompany me in the back. Logan, I'm sure, will do fine on his own."

"I trust if anyone runs into trouble, they'll use their comms," Scott added.

"We'll be fine," Logan grunted.

"Please heed Scott's words, Logan," Xavier said. "Your unique skeleton puts you at quite the disadvantage if you should run up against Magneto."

"I got you," Logan snorted.

"In case of an emergency, Kitty is on call to operate the Blackbird," Xavier continued. "Otherwise we'll meet outside the theater once we're done."

"Alright, let's move out," Cyclops commanded.

The Wolverine immediately vanished into a nearby crowd, but through their psi-link the rest of the group understood that he intended to find his way back stage. At the front, the others waited for the doors to open.

"We belong in the front row," Rachel crisply told the man at the door.

"Press pass?" he sounded bored.

Rachel felt a spike of panic raise from Scott so she glanced over at him and winked.

"Absolutely, sir." Rachel grinned. "It's right here."

Her hand held only air as she raised it in front of the man's line of vision. Too quick for anyone other than a fellow telepath to see, a flash of pink orange light emitted from her eyes as she psionically altered the perceptions of those around her. The man nodded and smiled.

"Go right on in," he said. "It's so nice to finally meet you, Ms�"

"Leia," Rachel provided. "Princess Leia."

"Right." The man nodded. "It's been a pleasure."

"Likewise." Rachel strutted into the theater with Scott on her heels.

"What was that?" Scott hissed.

Rachel shrugged. "Would you believe a Jedi mind trick?"

"No," Scott replied. "I wouldn't."

"He needed to see a press pass in order for us to get where we wanted," Rachel explained. "So I projected one into his mind. The professor will probably do the same thing for him and Nightcrawler."

Scott gave a curt nod before he ventured to add, "Lead on, _Princess_."

The two forced their way through the crowd, Rachel making the occasional psionic suggestion if a body refused to move. Once they made it the front of the stage, the agonizing wait began.

Moments later, Professor Xavier signaled through the psi-link that he and Nightcrawler had made it to their designated spot. Wolverine chose to remain silent.

The lights dimmed and a spotlight focused on a bulky man in a smart suit with slicked back strawberry blond hair. The spotlight followed him as he stepped to the center of the stage. He cleared his throat and made sure not to flash his teeth as he addressed the crowd.

"Good evening from the Bushnell Theater in Hartford, Connecticut," the man greeted. "I'm Steven Hunter of RVN World News. Welcome to the second of the 2004 Presidential debates between Senator Robert Kelly, and Senator Graydon Creed. This event is sponsored by the Commission on Presidential Debates. It will last 90 minutes following a format and rules worked out by the two campaigns."

A soft light spread over the stage to reveal Kelly and Creed standing behind opposite lecterns. Steven Hunter kept his back staunchly to both politicians and continued.

"There will be two-minute opening and closing statements. In between, a series of questions, each having three parts. A 90-second answer, a 60-second rebuttal, and a 30-second response. I will assist the candidates in adhering to those time limits with the help of a series of lights visible to both.

"Under their rules, the candidates are not allowed to question each other directly. I will ask the questions. There are no limitations on the subjects.

"The order for everything tonight was determined by coin toss. Now, the first question goes to you, Senator Creed. You have two minutes."

Creed flashed his painfully white smile to the crowd.

"Steven Hunter" turned from the audience and faced Graydon Creed directly. Hunter began to remove his jacket casually, revealing thick taught muscles. He ran a clawed hand through his hair before pulling a cigarette from the discarded jacket.

"So, tell me, boy," Sabretooth growled. "Despite having two mutant parents, you want to destroy our species? Where's your loyalty?"

Creed knocked over his glass of water as he stumbled backwards. His face had drained of color, but his expression was disgust, not fear.

"You�" Graydon snarled.

"That's right, kiddo." Victor Creed grinned.


	20. Revelations

20 Revelations:

All hell had officially broken loose. As Sabretooth made his way towards his first born son, bodyguards for Senator Kelly had dragged the incognito Mystique off of the stage. Graydon Creed's bodyguards were having less luck.

From backstage, claws unsheathed, Wolverine lunged, taking Sabretooth out at the waist. On his back, Sabretooth didn't bother with his own claws as he slugged Wolverine in the jaw.

Despite Creed's avid shouts of, "Kill them!" his bodyguards hesitated, unsure of which brawler was the enemy.

"This ain't your battle, runt!" Sabretooth snarled.

"I'm making it mine." Wolverine grinned as he cracked his jaw back into place.

"Damned bullheaded idiot," Sabretooth growled, his claws flashing beneath the stage's spotlight.

"This isn't good," Cyclops noted as the terrified crowd turned into a stampede.

"Creed's still alive," Rachel offered.

Cyclops thumbed his comm. "Professor, how are things looking back there?"

A blue-violet cloud of sulphur erupted next to Cyclops and Rachel. Nightcrawler and the professor emerged.

"The crowd is in chaos," Professor Xavier answered.

"We need to stop Logan," Cyclops said. "The last thing we need is a mutant carving someone up on television, even if it's another mutant."

"Leave it to me." Rachel nodded.

In an instant, the Wolverine was suspended in the air being pulled away from Sabretooth. Creed's bodyguards took this as an opportunity to shuffle the politician to safety.

"Good job, Rachel," Cyclops said.

"I didn't do it." The girl's brows were furrowed.

"Erik," Xavier realized.

As Sabretooth made to attack the incapacitated Wolverine, Rachel sent Victor Creed flying with a flick of her wrist.

"I'll take care of Magneto," Rachel decided.

The girl jumped onto the stage and started off towards backstage. Cyclops immediately followed her.

"I'm coming with you," he said.

"It's not necessary," Rachel said.

"Yes it is," Cyclops insisted. "Because we're a team."

Rachel hesitated and looked from Professor Xavier, to Nightcrawler to the floating Wolverine. She gave a curt nod and waited for Cyclops to join her. As the two ran off, Professor Xavier turned to Nightcrawler.

"Please retrieve, Wolverine," Xavier requested.

Nightcrawler nodded and teleported next to Wolverine. Magneto must have turned his attention elsewhere because Logan was sent hurtling through the air after Sabretooth. Nightcrawler leapt, teleported, caught his friend in his arms and dropped gracefully to the ground.

"The Wolverine is heavy, ja?" Nightcrawler muttered.

Wolverine stood on his own two feet and brushed himself off. "I'm going to go keep track of Mystique." He pointed to his nose before he took off, following the shapeshifter's scent.

"So that leaves you and me," Nightcrawler said to Xavier.

"And a terrified mob." Xavier nodded. "And Victor Creed."

Against the wall, Sabretooth snarled as he pushed debris off of his body.

"Zum teufel," Nightcrawler grumbled.

"Indeed," Xavier murmured.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

"Rachel," Cyclops called behind her. "I thought the main goal was to save Senator Creed's life. Why are we going after Magneto?"

"Remove the threat and there's no reason to defend Creed," Rachel said over her shoulder.

"Can you sense him?" he asked.

"Not with that helmet on his head," she replied.

"Then where are we going?" Cyclops wanted to know.

"I'm scanning all the minds in the area," Rachel answered. "I can see through their eyes."

"What do you see?"

"A silver haired gentleman humming Haydn was sitting in the balcony," Rachel said. "With any luck he's still up there."

Sure enough, Erik Lehnsherr was calmly watching the carnage below, a smirk on the old man's face. He offered Rachel and Cyclops a cordial nod.

"I see that wherever I go I'll always be pestered by you children," Magneto noted.

"We can't let you kill Graydon Creed," Cyclops said.

Magneto sighed. "I suspected as much. But I never asked for permission."

"We're here to stop you," Cyclops replied.

"But will you succeed?" Magneto smiled.

"You have no idea what the repercussions of your actions will be," Rachel declared.

"Do you have any idea of the repercussions of that genocidal maniac will be?" Magneto asked.

"If a mutant kills him, then he'll be proved right," Rachel insisted. "We can't beat Creed's ideas if we turn him into a martyr."

"I have located the heart of the problem and am prepared to deal with it," Magneto replied. "I will not allow for this man's blind hatred to spread."

"You are justifying his hatred with your actions," Rachel argued. "Are you prepared to damn an entire species on account of one man?"

"You have no right to lecture me on genocide, girl," Magneto warned.

"Oh I know all about you and your past," Rachel snorted. "You think the Gestapo was frightening? You haven't seen anything yet."

"You talk too much, child," Magneto said. "Has anyone ever told you that?"

Before Rachel could reply, her tongue was wrenched from her mouth by her metal stud. The instantaneous expression of shock was quickly replaced with a dark glare as her tongue muscle fought briefly against the Master of Magnetism's pull.

"You should listen to her, Magento," Cyclops urged.

"Ahh, Charles' prodigal son speaks," Magneto mused. "He would be proud of such dedication. You, however, bore me."

Cyclops grinned snidely as Magneto's protective helmet began to lift off his head. The older man blinked.

"What's this?" he murmured.

Rachel smiled widely around her outstretched tongue, her eyes concentrating on the helmet.

"You insufferable brat!" Magneto growled.

With a quick flick of his hand he slammed Rachel's tongue back into her mouth. The helmet fell back onto Magneto's head as the girl gagged on her own tongue. A theater chair was torn from the floor by another movement of the man's wrist and thrown at her.

An optic blast deflected the chair. Rachel flung her hands over her head and dropped to the floor as shrapnel tore through her real arm. Xavier's first X-Man turned to his mentor's old friend and prepared to fire a second shot.

"Do you not learn?" Magneto roared.

With metal stolen from the numerous chairs Magneto formed several spikes and hurled them at the X-Man with deadly precision. Struck in the shoulder and chest, Scott Summers crumpled to the ground, red blossoming beneath him.

Magneto gave a weary nod as he viewed his handiwork. With a sigh, he sent Rachel hurtling out of his way and left the balcony with the poise and grace of a cat.

Rachel picked herself off the floor and gingerly fingered the small numerous wounds on her arm.

"Cyclops! We need to stop him," Rachel decided.

When she received no answer she looked closely at her still companion.

"Scott?" The word came out a forced croak.

The girl shuffled hesitantly towards the X-Man. Face down in his own blood, try as she might to forget, the image was familiar to Rachel. She kept her distance, not wanting to confirm anything.

"Scott…"

Instead, Rachel let the memories of a terrified ten year pour out of her mind. The sole survivor of Xavier's School for Gifted Youngsters wrenched from the cold arms of her father by sentinels. It was happening again.

"No, no, no!" Rachel's knees buckled as her fingers dug into her scalp.

Wrapping her arms around her wasn't enough to still her quaking frame. Rachel's shrieks couldn't fend off the incoherent sobs that followed as she stared at the blood splattered visage of Scott Summers.

"No! Can't die—don't die, please! Daddy!"


	21. A Family Matter

21 A Family Matter:

"Senator Creed, follow me, please," A female officer instructed. "I'll protect you."

"Yeah, great," Creed muttered.

"I don't think so."

The officer pointed her gun towards the shadows.

"Come out, you mutie scum," she growled.

"It don't matter what you look like, Mystique," Wolverine replied. "I can smell your filth."

"Mystique?" Graydon bellowed.

"It's sad when a boy can't even recognize his own mother," Mystique chided as her officer disguise melted away.

"And I thought I had a messed up past," Wolverine grunted.

"This doesn't concern you, animal," Mystique warned.

Wolverine stepped out from the shadows and unsheathed the claws to his right hand.

"I take it I ain't one of your favorite people, darlin'," he said as he exposed the claws to his left hand.

Mystique licked her lips.

"I'm sure we'd get along just fine, you and I, if only we were on the same side," she said.

"You ain't my type," Wolverine replied.

"Oh, I could be any type you wanted." Mystique smiled viciously. "Besides, don't you have a thing for redheads?"

"Are you going to kill her, or am I going to have to do it for you?" Graydon demanded.

"I see he takes after you," Wolverine noted.

Mystique sighed and turned to her eldest child. Her leg flew up with a dancer's grace and connected with Creed's chin. Spittle flew from Graydon's mouth as the force from his mother's kick propelled him backwards.

"I'll deal with you in a moment," she promised her son.

"That's some maternal instinct." Wolverine smirked.

"For one who knows so little, you seem to say much." Mystique threw her first punch.

Wolverine dodged her right hook.

"Enlighten me, then."

He grunted as her left hand made contact with his kidneys.

"He is an abomination to his lineage," she hissed.

There was a light sheen of perspiration on Raven Darkholme's skin, but her breathing remained steady, her hand-to-hand combat precise and deadly.

"Coming from a family of freaks, it's a small comfort to be the black sheep," Graydon spat as he fingered his injured chin. "Of course, not even an X gene could protect your other son from your Medea complex."

"I will cut the tongue from your mouth," Mystique warned as she evaded Wolverine's claws.

The woman drilled her knee into Wolverine's solar plexus. As the air was ripped from his lungs, Mystique cracked her fists over the base of his skull. Bone was no match for adamantium and the shapeshifter snarled as pain radiated in her hands from the blow she landed.

"So you make a habit of killing your kids?" Wolverine forced himself up to his knees in time to watch Mystique's foot crash into his face.

"I would have done anything for that child!" Her voice was level, but a smoldering rage was apparent in her yellow eyes.

Wolverine's healing factor and adamantium skeleton kept him from any serious harm, but the woman was simply too fast for him. If a foot didn't connect with his ribs, a fist was aimed for his windpipe, temple or groin.

"I was presented with a choice." Mystique planted a kick into Wolverine's chest and waited for him to crash into a wall before she continued. "I chose."

"You chose to save yourself at the expense of an infant," Creed laughed.

"I could have died that day along with my son, or I could have sacrificed my son and escape so that I could come back and make those humans pay," Mystique growled. "I saw to it that they suffered as I had."

Wolverine roared and lunged at her. Mystique's stamina diminished, she could easily block Logan's berserker strikes, but she lacked the needed energy to guard against his attacks while also trying to land a hit herself.

She took a chance with an elbow into the bridge of his nose. Wolverine countered with an uppercut. As she hit the ground, Mystique smiled up at the Wolverine who loomed over her.

"You're done," Wolverine decided.

/No! Can't die—don't die, please! Daddy!/

The pain seared at the base of Logan's skull and spread to encompass his entire brain. The raw emotions coupled with the strength behind such thoughts were enough to bring the powerful man to his knees.

"Shit," he grunted.

The pressure Wolverine applied to his temples wasn't enough to alleviate his agony. Laughter bounced off of his eardrums and through his blurred vision he could see Mystique standing before him, triumphant.

"Shit," Wolverine repeated.

Mystique wasted little time in kicking him across his face. Wolverine fell to the ground and didn't get up. Mystique brushed her hands off and grabbed her son by the collar.

"I've dreamed of killing you," she whispered in his ear.

His smiling political mask stripped away, Graydon Creed radiated nothing but hatred.

"You should have killed me years ago," Creed snarled.

Mystique shrugged. "How was I to know that a twelve year old English speaking boy would be capable of surviving in Russia? I'm here to correct my mistake."

"Let's get this over with," Graydon dared.

"Oh, we will," Mystique promised. "I just have one last thing to tell you first."

"And what's that?" Graydon hissed.

"I don't regret," Mystique said. "I didn't regret abandoning you and I never regretted what I did to your brother. Especially since I recently discovered something. He's alive and well, which is more than I can say for you."

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/Rachel Anne Summers!/

Rachel snapped her head up, ignoring the snot that dripped from her nose.

"What?" she asked frantically.

/Child, your thoughts are too powerful,/ Professor Xavier warned. /You're going to damage Kurt's and Logan's minds through our psi-link if you do not calm yourself./

"But Cyclops—" she blubbered.

/But what?/ Xavier demanded. /Search through the psi-link, Rachel. Find Scott's thoughts./

"You mean?"

/He will live,/ Xavier confirmed. /Now, calm down. Kurt and I will be there as soon as we take care of the mob down here./

"Daddy?" Rachel whimpered.

Cyclops groaned and started to push himself up into a sitting position. He coughed uncomfortably as Rachel scrambled over to his side. Cyclops cocked his head to one side and gave the girl a curious look.

"Are you alright?" he asked.

Rachel's bottom lip quivered as she threw herself into his arms. Her pitiful cries of, "Daddy," were interrupted only by hiccupped sobs.

Cyclops weakly patted her on her head and back.

"Shhh," he urged. "It's going to be okay. Everything's going to be okay."


	22. Dance Lessons

22 Dance Lessons:

"See, Herr Sabretooth," Nightcrawler exclaimed. "You can waltz!"

The blue furred mutant spun Victor Creed around in a circle and teleported away as the animalistic Brotherhood member slashed at him. Nightcrawler reappeared behind Sabretooth and tapped him on his shoulder before he vanished again.

"Get back here, punk!" Sabretooth roared.

Though he was no physical match for Victor Creed, Kurt Wagner could easily provide a distraction while Charles Xavier mentally calmed the crowd and directed them single file out the nearest exit. If Sabretooth ever felt the urge to claim a human hostage, Nightcrawler was there to teleport them to safety.

"How many more civilians, Professor?" Nightcrawler asked between teleporting.

"We're almost done," Xavier assured.

"Well, we can't have that," Sabretooth snarled.

Claws unsheathed, Victor Creed leapt towards the wheelchair bound man. Xavier faced him confidently.

Inches from striking distance, Sabretooth vanished in a cloud of sulfur and brimstone. He reappeared yards away in the arms of the Incredible Nightcrawler.

"Now, now, liebe," Nightcrawler taunted. "You are my dancing partner, ja?"

"I didn't take you to be the jealous type," Sabretooth grunted as he lashed a clawed hand out at the other mutant.

For as agile as Kurt Wagner was, he wasn't fast enough to avoid the blow completely. As he sprang away, he felt Sabretooth's claws graze his midsection.

"So you do bleed red," Sabretooth noted as he licked a claw clean. "You had me curious."

"I suppose I am just a curious individual." Nightcrawler grinned.

/No! Can't die—don't die, please! Daddy!/

The smile died on Kurt Wagner's face as the mental cry pierced through his thoughts. His legs gave way beneath his body and on the ground he couldn't decipher the German thoughts from the English that circled in his head. The excruciating ringing, maybe it was an angel's laughter, maybe he was already dead.

"Oh come on," Sabretooth scoffed. "I thought you were going to be more fun than this."

Nightcrawler spluttered out something that was an incomprehensible smattering of German intertwined English. Sabretooth shook his head, unimpressed.

"I was going to dice you to pieces anyway," he said. "I was just hoping you'd put up more of a fight."

"Enough!" Charles Xavier cried.

From his wheelchair, the older man gripped one hand to his temple, but his eyes were filled with a steely determination.

"Can it, cue ball," Sabretooth snorted. "I'll deal with you in a minute."

"If you were wise, you would deal with me now." Xavier smiled coldly.

"Oh?" Sabretooth lifted Nightcrawler up by the throat. "I am dealing with you now, baldy. Let's see what kind of fighting you'll be up for after you watch me gut one of your pets."

/Rachel Anne Summers!/ Xavier commanded telepathically.

Good, he thought. He had distracted the girl's psychic assault. Nightcrawler seemed to be coming around.

"You will not harm Nightcrawler," Xavier decided.

"The hell I won't," Sabretooth sneered. "Who's going to stop me?"

Sabretooth pulled his arm back to strike the man in his grip.

"I am," Xavier replied coolly.

And so Charles Francis Xavier invaded his enemy's mind with little more than the will to do so.

"Now you are mine," Xavier murmured.

"Yeah?" Frozen in his spot, Sabretooth still had the audacity to taunt. "What are you going to do now, slick?"

"Sleep, kitten," Xavier ordered. "Leave the battle to the adults."

Sabretooth's roar came out a gurgle as he collapsed, unconscious. Nightcrawler gingerly fingered his windpipe as he wandered back over to the professor.

"What was that?" Nightcrawler asked.

"Some of our allies ran into Erik," Xavier replied. "Come. Let's see how they are faring."

Nightcrawler nodded and followed after his mentor.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

"Maybe I wasn't the best behaved six year old on the planet," Cyclops said. "But to become a father at that age? Rachel—"

"You're hurt," Rachel scolded. "You shouldn't try to talk. Relax, save your energy."

"But what you've told me makes no logical sense at all," Cyclops protested.

"It does when you consider the fact that I'm not due to be born for another few years," Rachel pointed out.

"How many?" Cyclops frowned.

"Now where's the fun in telling you everything?" she asked. "Don't you like surprises?"

"Okay, so you're supposed to be born in a few years to a woman that's dead," Cyclops said.

"Mom's not dead," Rachel adamantly insisted. "She can't be. I refuse to believe it."

"You weren't there." Cyclops shook his head. "She was just swallowed by that water. There was no possible way any human body could have survived that."

"But that's just it," Rachel argued. "Mom's not human. She's much stronger!"

"Jean is dead," Cyclops said.

"Then why am I here?" Rachel demanded.

"Do you know how long it's taken for me to admit that?" Cyclops asked. "She's dead and she's not coming back. I can't keep pretending."

"I won't accept that," Rachel said.

"You don't have to," Cyclops replied. "But I have and I'm moving on."

"If you weren't hurt right now I'd punch you," Rachel growled.

"Are you two okay?" Nightcrawler asked as he teleported in front of them.

"Cyclops is a little hurt," Rachel grumbled.

"What about you?" Nightcrawler motioned to the lacerations on her arm.

"They're only flesh wounds," Rachel replied. "I'm fine."

"Are you?" Professor Xavier asked. "I don't mean to pry, but you were broadcasting some strange memories through the psi-link very loudly."

"You don't mean to pry, yet you're asking about it," Rachel laughed.

"It's just that I caught an image of me," Xavier said. "And I was dead."

"And?" Rachel asked.

"I'm not dead."

"We all die eventually." Rachel shrugged. "Let's find Magneto."

"You're right," Xavier agreed. "Perhaps you'll talk to me about it later."

Rachel nodded. Nightcrawler helped Cyclops up and the group set off.


	23. Heroes and Killers

23 Heroes and Killers:

And like that, the screaming stopped. Logan opened his eyes. Creed was still alive, he wasn't too late. But that was secondary. Wolverine's top concern for the moment was Mystique.

So, as the cacophony of noise dissipated from his ears, Wolverine forced his body off the ground and lunged towards Mystique.

The woman heard him coming from a mile away. She met his face with the bottom of her foot.

"Don't you know enough to stay down?" she hissed.

"I'm a slow learner," Wolverine replied.

The two fighters launched at each other, abandoning Graydon Creed to his own devices. The politician scrambled down the corridor and around a corner. In his haste, he stumbled over the body of a female police officer, presumably where Mystique had found her disguise, and fell to the ground. Feverishly, Creed searched the woman until he found what he was looking for. The officer's gun was secure in her holster and his for the taking.

Cold gun in his hand, the senator nodded. He slowly crept back around the corner where the fight was progressing. Wolverine had his hand closed around Mystique's throat and she was battering him with her feet.

Completely enthralled with each other, they would be easy prey. Creed pulled the trigger.

Wolverine hit the ground with a thud as the bullet ricocheted off of the adamantium plating of his skull. Mystique raised an eyebrow and glanced in the direction of the blast.

"Classy," she commented.

"No more than trash deserves," her son shot back.

"I'll keep that in mind when I kill you," Mystique replied.

Their feud was interrupted by a bamf sound.

"The reinforcements have arrived!" Nightcrawler offered Mystique an elaborate bow and cheeky grin.

"You idiot," she snarled.

Nightcrawler was taken aback by the raw strength the shapeshifter exhibited as she grabbed him by the shoulders and spun herself in front of him. Instinctively, Nightcrawler back flipped away from the woman, his blue furred formed matching her blue skinned body in agility. Before he could strike a defensive stance, he was caught off guard by a gunshot.

Mystique felt her rib crack as the bone reflected the bullet, so she knew that the injury wasn't life threatening. But that didn't stop the pain from searing through her.

It took a moment for the red exploding from the side of Mystique to register in Kurt Wagner's mind. With a silent prayer, he wrapped an arm around the injured woman and teleported back towards the safety of the group of X-Men he had been scouting for.

With every move he made, a low hissing sound escaped her clenched teeth. Nightcrawler's brows furrowed as he gazed at the woman in his charge. Safe in his arms, Mystique grazed her fingers across the slash marks in the teleporter's midsection.

"You're hurt anyway," she murmured.

"That was just a parting gift from a good friend," Nightcrawler quipped. "Bad dancer."

Mystique shook her head.

"Why did you do that?" Nightcrawler asked. "You saved me at your own expense."

"It was instinct," Mystique replied. "A mistake I do not wish to repeat."

Nightcrawler nodded and teleported with her again. When they emerged from the blue-violet smoke they were faced with Cyclops, who was leaning on Rachel's shoulder for support.

"Correct me if I'm wrong," Cyclops began. "But I thought you were going to Creed. Or Wolverine at the very least."

Mystique smiled at the X-Men's field leader.

"If you don't kill Creed," she said. "He will kill you."

"Easy for you to say," Cyclops retorted.

"I wasn't the one who shot your hairy friend in the head," Mystique replied.

Cyclops blanched.

"He's going to be cranky when he comes to," the field leader grumbled.

"So what do we do now?" Nightcrawler asked.

"Aside from Creed himself, the only threat that remains is Magneto," Charles Xavier said quietly. "Sabretooth is unconscious and will remain so for another hour or two, Mystique is wounded. But on the other hand Cyclops is also wounded and there's no way of telling what condition Wolverine is in."

"Cranky," Cyclops repeated. "I'd bet my life on it."

------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

"And like the dogs they are, they abandoned you to be slaughtered," Creed murmured.

The senator circled the still mutant slowly. He held the gun against Wolverine's temple.

"Strange," he noted. "I was certain that I shot you directly. The bullet should be lodged in your brain, not the wall. Not that it matters. I'll make sure you're dead."

The Wolverine's eyes opened. In a single fluid movement, the gun was sliced in two by Wolverine's claws.

"Impossible!" Creed spluttered.

"Here's some advice," Wolverine growled. He hoisted Creed up by the man's collar. "Shoot first, talk later."

Creed was allowed a gasp before Wolverine's adamantium strong forehead came crashing down along the bridge of his nose. He lost consciousness seconds after he heard the mutant mutter, "asshole."

Wolverine settled on his haunches in front of Creed at full attention. Now he truly understood why Magneto wanted the bastard dead. He had half a mind to do the job for him. The only thing that stopped Wolverine from acting on his impulse was Rogue.

He didn't like the look on her face when she said, "Ah believe her." She was too young to look that serious. Maybe what Bobby had said about Rogue using her power was right.

So, he couldn't kill Creed. There'd have to another way to make him suffer. Or at least to see to it that he wasn't a threat to mutants politically. Maybe a nice smear campaign. Wolverine supposed that if it was made public knowledge that Creed had two mutant parents while simultaneously being anti-mutant, his funds would dry up on both ends.

"It's about time you showed up," Wolverine grunted. He didn't even bother to look up.

"Did he shoot you in the head?"

"Yeah." Wolverine nodded. "It's getting to be a habit."

"As is running into you," Magneto noted. "Is there anyway to get you to peacefully step aside?"

"No," Wolverine said. "That would ruin my reputation."

"Pity." Magneto sighed.

As quickly as his claws were unsheathed, Wolverine found himself suspended in the air. His lip curled up in a sneer.

"I suppose it was too much to ask you to fight fairly," Wolverine growled. "Like a real man."

"I hardly call those claws of yours fair," Magneto replied.

Wolverine glowered as the Master of Magnetism forced his claws back into his forearm.

"Besides," Magneto continued. "I think I'm being rather generous. If I was feeling particularly cruel I could reshape your adamantium skeleton. Imagine dagger-like ribs stabbing your vital organs every time you take a breath."

"If that was coming from someone with the balls to back it up with, I might've felt threatened," Wolverine snorted.

A smile crooked the silver haired man's lips.

"I do not doubt that you have the… _balls_ to try to stop me," Magneto said. "But right now you are at my mercy. I'm going to assassinate Graydon Creed and the most you can do is grossly exaggerate pieces of your anatomy."

With a flick of Magneto's fingers, the destroyed gun rose up through the air. He eyed the weapon critically before discarding it piece by piece. Finally, all that remained floating was a single bullet.

"This seems fitting, I think," Magneto murmured.

Only a slight smile from the old man hinted at anything. The bullet began to spin clockwise, slow at first, but gradually faster. Once it became a blur, Magneto used a finger to point it at Creed's skull.

"Bang," he whispered.

Mere inches from Creed's forehead, the bullet halted. Magneto frowned and narrowed his eyes in concentration. The bullet edged itself a little closer to Creed's head. Magneto spared a glance down the corridor.

"Stop fighting me, child," he said.

"I can't do that," Rachel replied. Sweat ran freely down the girl's forehead as she telekinetically fought for control of the bullet.

Behind Rachel the remaining X-Men anxiously watched. Mystique slipped from Nightcrawler's arms and slowly made her way over to Magneto.

"I had wondered where you had wandered off to," Magneto commented.

"I have curious children," Mystique murmured as she joined the older man's side.

"Erik, think about what you're doing," Xavier pleaded.

"I already have, Charles," Magneto replied solemnly. "My obligation is the protection of the mutant race, not peaceful coexistence."

With a blink of his blue eyes, Magneto changed his force on the bullet from directly against Rachel's to an angle, sending it into the wall.

Rachel took a few steps towards Magento. In turn, Magneto levitated Wolverine over towards the other X-Men. Mystique left a red smear on the wall as she slid down to sit.

"I don't want to kill you," Magneto said.

"I can't die." Rachel smiled grimly. "I haven't been born yet."

"So you are determined to test your theory." Magneto looked sad.

"I've got to," Rachel replied. "The world's at stake."

"Ever the hero, eh, child?" Magneto gave the girl an understanding smile.

"You bet," Rachel said.

"Then let's end this," Magneto decided.

Rachel nodded.

Immediately Rachel was lifted from the ground by her prosthetic limbs. The girl didn't blink; she simply focused all of her concentration on Magneto's helmet. As the Master of Magnetism slammed her against a wall, she flung his helmet off of his head.

Rachel was dropped to the ground as she gained her first foothold into Magneto's mind. Her breathing was pained, Magneto had succeeded in fracturing some ribs when she collided with the wall, but she was making progress.

"That was a great idea," Cyclops noted. "Without his helmet any telepath could easily subdue him."

Wolverine chuckled. "That really isn't a subdued look in her eyes."

"What do you mean?" Cyclops demanded.

"That kid's got the face of a killer," Wolverine replied.


	24. Bleed

Author's Note: A blatant display of the lack of knowledge I have in regards to the astral plane. Enjoy.

-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

24 Bleed:

"My Lord…" Charles Xavier murmured.

Not once since he had met Erik Lehnsherr more than forty years ago had the man ever looked so vulnerable. His hair matted to his skull with sweat, Magneto trembled erratically on his knees.

"Is she killing him?" Cyclops asked.

Xavier shook his head. To see his old friend drooling through clenched teeth was far too surreal for him.

"He won't physically die, no," Xavier replied. "She's trying to turn his mind off."

"Rachel!" Nightcrawler teleported to her side. He lowered his voice for her ears only. "Liebchen, you can't go through with this. It's wrong. You're doing the same thing that Magneto was."

Rachel's gaze didn't leave Magneto. Instead, the girl brought a hand up and stroked Nightcrawler's cheek. In an instant Nightcrawler was falling towards the ground, unconscious.

"She's really going to go through with it," Cyclops muttered. "Rachel!"

"I don't see what the big deal is," Wolverine said. "He's getting as good as he can give."

"The X-Men aren't like that," Cyclops growled. "We're protectors, not murderers."

"Then you have quite the predicament, _fearless leader_." Wolverine nodded towards Magneto and Rachel.

"You aren't helping anything," Cyclops snapped.

"Enough," Xavier interrupted. "Cyclops, you and I are going to go to the astral plane. Wolverine, look after our bodies while we're gone."

"Astral plane?" Wolverine raised an eyebrow.

"It's the psychic world," Xavier explained before his body and Cyclops' went limp.

"Psychic world," Wolverine muttered. "Right. I'm going to have a cigar, you don't mind, do you, wheels? I didn't think so."

Scott Summers only blinked, but in that short time he knew something had greatly changed. He was still in a hallway in Bushnell Theater, that much he was certain of. But it was so quiet.

Wolverine was gone. And so was Nightcrawler. And Magneto and Mystique. Only ethereal fog remained to paint the halls in hazy shades of purple. Something was wrong.

"Scott."

He stifled a gasp as he felt a hand on his shoulder. Scott turned to face his mentor. Standing.

"You're—"

"Everything that happens on the astral plane is powered by your mind alone," Xavier said. "It's no less real, only different. You are as powerful as your thoughts."

"Is that Rachel?" Scott pointed at the small child in a corner, hugging her knees.

"It would appear so," Xavier replied.

"She said that I was her father," Scott said.

"Her thoughts are sincere, so she could very well be telling the truth," Xavier offered. "Of course, she could also be delusional."

Scott lingered back as Professor Xavier approached the little girl. He placed a hesitant hand atop her long red curls.

"Rachel?" Xavier said. "Is that you, child?"

"Grandpa Xavier?" she sniffled. "What are you doing here?"

"Well, I was worried about you," the older man replied. "So I came to find you."

"You shouldn't have come." Rachel rubbed her tears fiercely. "Franklin's way more powerful than me. You should be spending time with him."

"Franklin can wait," Xavier told her. "You're troubled. Will you tell me what's wrong?"

"It's the voices, Grandpa," Rachel confessed. "They're so loud."

"Your telepathy?" Xavier asked. "There are shields you can learn."

"But when they die, they're so loud, Grandpa," Rachel whimpered. "It hurts."

"When who dies, Rachel?" Xavier asked. "I want to help you."

"When they killed Daddy, they took me away," Rachel babbled.

As she talked, her long hair fell out and the indigo tattoos cut across the girl's face.

"I made a good hound too, killed lots of muties." Rachel's form was wavering between child and teenager. "Now I'm all alone. Everyone's dead. You're dead too, Grandpa."

"But I'm right here," Xavier began.

"No!" Rachel screeched. "You're dead too! I saw it!"

Xavier leapt back as Rachel erected a twisted steel fence between them. He grazed his hand over the rusted barbed wire of the girl's psychic shield and shuddered.

Scott joined his mentor's side.

"I think I've got this," he whispered.

Xavier nodded.

Scott Summers closed his eyes and concentrated as he reached out for the fence. The man known as Cyclops smiled as he felt a door handle and made a path for himself.

"Go away, Grandpa," Rachel sobbed. "You're dead. I saw it."

"You're causing quite a bit of trouble, do you know that?" Scott asked.

"Daddy?" Immediately Rachel reverted to her child form.

"Do you feel like talking or crying?" he asked.

In seconds the bawling child was in his arms. With a sigh, Scott began to comfort the girl. When Rachel's shaking had calmed, she looked up at him with bloodshot eyes.

"I miss Mom," she said.

Scott felt his throat go dry. He patted the top of her head.

"So do I," he murmured. "But do you really think she would have liked what you're doing now?"

Rachel frowned.

"No, I guess not," she said. "But I just wanted to make everything better and Magneto always gets in the way of your plans."

"Don't let him drag you down to his level," Scott urged.

The child pulled away from his arms. As she gazed up at him, Rachel aged to the young woman that she was. She shook her head.

"I thought about this thoroughly," she decided. "This is for the best."

"Rachel!" Scott screamed as he felt the astral plane slipping away from him.

Cyclops' nostrils twitched, agitated by the cigar smoke. As he forced his eyes open, he caught sight of Wolverine standing alert.

"Holy shit," Wolverine muttered.

"What's going on?" Cyclops demanded.

Rachel looked disoriented; he figured that it was probably from her time on the astral plane. Cyclops' opinion changed when he saw the determined look in Charles Xavier's eyes. Just because he had been torn from the astral plane, it didn't mean that the battle between the two telepaths was over.

With his newfound freedom, Magneto shot his hand out instinctively to defend himself. Every scrap of metal in Rachel's body was torn from her frame in an instant. The girl stood for a moment as if her body was unaware of the injuries it had sustained. Her eyes followed the blood that splattered the walls before she crumpled face first onto the ground.

Wolverine swore and threw himself at Magneto. Magneto gave the feral man a dull look and sent him into a wall. His numb hands found his helmet and with that safely on his head, he collected Mystique.

"Creed is yours, Charles," Magneto murmured.

He hurried off with Mystique in tow.

Charles Xavier looked blankly at Cyclops who was at Rachel's side. He thought ruefully on how he was supposed to be the world's most powerful telepath.

"Rachel…" Cyclops whispered.

Rachel smiled, but her eyes were glazing over. No final words or heartfelt exchanges. Only death.

"We should go." Xavier cleared his throat.

Wolverine quietly slung the unconscious Nightcrawler over his shoulder. Cyclops wiped some blood from Rachel's cheek and stood up, ready.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

"Ah, Kitty Pryde, girl genius! She has the ability to make a weapon of mass destruction out of a toaster." Kitty yawned. "So what kind of job does she get? Chauffer. Professor Xavier is a jerk."

The X-Men's newest field member shifted in her seat on the Blackbird trying to find a position that wouldn't make her butt fall asleep. It wasn't working. She sighed.

"They should have at least put a sound system in this thing," she continued. "I'm so bored."

An idea struck the girl and she scurried over to the command console of the jet. So the radio was only supposed to be used for emergencies. The _old people_ didn't seem to be having any difficulty at the presidential debate; they would have contacted her otherwise. If Kitty was lucky, she'd be able to get in touch with someone at the school. She could pass the time chatting about nothing with Jubilee or Peter. It was too cruel to abandon a fifteen year old for hours on end in a pathetically entertainment-free jet.

"So the Blackbird isn't as empty as we had assumed," an amused voice said.

Kitty tensed and turned around slowly.

"Oh, Charles, you have been clever," Magneto murmured.

Mystique was at the older man's side in an instant. The blue skinned woman seemed a bit preoccupied with a bloodied rag pressed against her side. She looked up at him and raised an eyebrow.

"No, I don't think we'll need to kill this one," Magneto said gently. "We won't need to kill you, will we, child?"

"What do you want?" Kitty asked.

"Why, the Blackbird of course," Magneto answered. "Perhaps in exchange, we'll let you leave unharmed. Or perhaps, we could use a hostage."

The available courses of action flitted through the girl's mind and she frowned. Kitty sighed and shook her head.

"Professor Xavier is going to be so mad," she mumbled.

"Very good." Magneto smiled. "You're smarter than you look. Take a seat child and enjoy the ride."

Every time Kitty Pryde used her mutant power her body felt tingly. Very rarely had she had a reason to use her ability so she hadn't quite gotten used to the sensation of her body's molecules becoming ephemeral. With a smirk, Kitty dashed backwards and in her intangible state, dove through the Blackbird's controls.

The jet's control console crackled and hissed as the girl's mutant power destroyed the electrical equipment. Safely outside, Kitty ran, determined to find her allies.


	25. Epilogue

Author's Notes: Done! Whoo!

* * *

Epilogue:

"Katherine Pryde," Professor Xavier chided. "Please tell me there is a reason that you're no longer in the Blackbird."

"It didn't really go with my shoes so I traded it in?" Kitty grinned sheepishly.

"Kitty…"

"Either that or Magneto and his scaly girlfriend decided to confiscate it," Kitty cut in quickly.

"So they've escaped?" Cyclops said darkly.

"Not exactly." Kitty smiled.

"What do you mean, child?" Xavier asked.

"Promise you won't get mad, Professor?" Kitty asked.

"Kitty…" Xavier raised an eyebrow.

"I kind of thrashed the Blackbird by phasing through it," Kitty explained.

Professor Xavier blinked, stunned.

"Am I in trouble?" Kitty asked.

"You did good, kid," Wolverine said.

"I did?" Kitty blinked.

Wolverine just grinned as he ruffled the young girl's hair.

"Where's Rachel?" Kitty asked.

Wolverine didn't respond. Instead he pulled a cigar out of his pocket. Nightcrawler fingered his rosary and began to mumble in German.

"She had to go," Scott said. "She said she'd be back with us again in a few years."

Kitty shot Cyclops a curious glance, but she didn't argue his answer.

"So what do we do now?" she asked.

"The police have already detained Sabretooth," Xavier answered. "Knowing Mystique, she'll probably put on a civilian disguise and be picked up by an ambulance. And Erik… Erik will escape like he always does."

"And you're okay with that?" Cyclops spoke through gritted teeth.

"There are several things that happened today that I'm not okay with," Xavier replied levelly. "But we have accomplished what we set out to; Erik will not murder Graydon Creed this day. We should go home."

The group walked in silence as Logan led them to Scott's car. Xavier shimmied into the passenger seat and while Scott was putting his mentor's wheelchair into the trunk, Kitty shuffled towards the bald man.

"Professor?" she asked. "Are you okay?"

The older man forced a smile to his lips and shook his head.

"I am continually amazed at how little I truly know," Xavier murmured.

"Rachel's dead, isn't she?" Kitty said. "You don't have to lie to me just because you think I'm a kid."

"I was overconfident," Xavier replied. "I thought I was strong enough to calm two struggling minds at once. Erik didn't mean for it to happen. One look at his face told me that much."

"Alright, we're ready," Scott said. "Let's go."

Kitty nodded and hopped into the backseat.

* * *

Outside the walls of the school on 1407 Graymalkin Lane, the acres of the estate's land were relatively quiet. The students were content to stay inside or play on the basketball court. Only the permanent residents found a need to venture out into the woods and discover a small brook, if only to escape the monotony of daily life.

"Twinkie?"

Hank McCoy's head turned slowly towards his friend's voice. Scott Summers held two of the plastic wrapped golden delicacies in his hand. Scott sat down next to his hulking friend and forced a Twinkie into Hank's furry paw.

The only reaction that Hank gave was a flit of his steel blue eyes as they focused on the confection. Scott tore open his Twinkie wrapper and crumpled it up into one hand. He ate in silence.

"Professor Xavier knew what I was going to do all along, didn't he?" Hank said finally.

Scott looked over at his old friend. The once familiar planes of Hank's face were ravaged with tufts of blue-gray fur and his features had taken on a more apelike appearance. Scott searched for the right words, but ultimately decided to remain quiet.

"If he knew, then why didn't he try to stop me?" Hank asked.

"Would you have listened?" Scott asked.

"I suppose you're right." Hank sighed. "Besides, it's not like anyone knew what that prototype would do."

"Does Warren know?" Scott asked.

"Yes," Hank replied. "I told him to take my research to Dr. Essex if he feels like it. I don't care anymore."

"What are you going to do now?" Scott wondered.

Hank carefully peeled the wrapper from his Twinkie. "I don't know," he admitted.

"I'm sure the professor would love to have you back," Scott said. "But you and Trish probably have plans."

"Trish," Hank muttered glumly before he stuffed the entire Twinkie into his mouth. "She left me."

"What?"

"She left me," Hank repeated. "She said something about not being able to be with someone who couldn't respect himself."

"What do you think about that?" Scott asked.

"Well, if she was telling the truth, then it's no more than I deserve," Hank decided. "But if it's a paltry excuse to ditch a blue furred gentleman, then to hell with her."

"You don't sound too convinced," Scott noted.

"It's the least of my problems," Hank chuckled bitterly. "I need to reason out a way to take a shower without clogging the drain now."

"You don't mean-"

"I don't want to bore you with my troubles," Hank insisted. "I should feel lucky that I'm still alive. But I wonder what kind of a life I'll have now."

"I don't understand," Scott murmured.

"I used to be able to hide," Hank explained softly. "I used to be able to pretend that I was just Dr. Henry McCoy. Now, there's no Hank in sight. Now, I'm just a beast."

"It sounds like you need more Twinkies." Scott smiled.

Hank shook away his thoughts. "Indeed," he agreed. "You seem awfully chipper all things considered."

"I think you're right," Scott said.

"I'm relieved," Hank confessed. "I was afraid that you would never be able to move on after Jean. Do you think you're ready to start dating again?"

"No." Scott shook his head as he stood up. "Jean's out there somewhere. I know that now. I just have to find her."

* * *

"Bobby, please," Rogue pleaded.

Frustrated, the girl pounded her fist against the door to the cafeteria's massive freezer. On the other side of the door, huddled in a ball, Bobby shook his head fiercely.

"I just need to be by myself," he insisted. "I'll come out when I'm ready."

"You can't hide in there forever," Rogue muttered.

She gave the door one final punch before she shuffled away, defeated.

Inside the freezer, Bobby sighed, exhaling the frosty air. Tears had frozen on his eyelashes as his panic had mounted. His hands were blocks of ice, he had just about grown to accept that, when the ice flesh had spread up his arms and to his shoulders. It was devouring him.

Dr. McCoy had told Bobby that it was an extension of his abilities and he could control it, given practice. But Bobby had spent the past few days watching the ice blindly consume him and he had grown more pessimistic. Why should he believe a man who accidentally turned himself into a furball?

Bobby had heard stories about other mutants. Mutants whose powers made them pure biokinetic energy, so powerful that their human bodies couldn't contain it. The lucky ones lost body parts or were willful enough to mold new forms out of the remaining energy. Bobby couldn't help but imagine that something similar was happening to him. He shivered.

Rogue would be back soon, he could count on that. In the meantime, Bobby needed to collect his thoughts. He brushed the pile of crumpled up pieces of paper next to him over by the box of hot dogs. Bobby started again with a fresh sheet of paper. The first part was easy.

"Dear Mom..."

* * *

"Professor, do you remember your mother?" Kurt asked.

"Of course I remember my mother," Professor Xavier replied. "Why do you ask?"

"I never had a real mother," Kurt lilted. "I was taken in by gypsies in a traveling circus because of my unique looks. Margali Szardos was a good woman, but I often wonder what a real mother would be like."

"Sometimes, Kurt, you can't measure a true mother based on blood," Xavier replied.

Kurt nodded his head sadly. "No, I suppose you cannot."

"Kurt," Xavier began, but was interrupted by the trill of his office phone. "Excuse me for a moment."

"Ja." Kurt slunk down into a large leather chair.

"Xavier's School for Gifted Youngsters," Xavier greeted. "Ororo? It's good to hear from you, my dear. What?"

The older man's hand shook around the receiver. Kurt made his way to his mentor and offered a steady hand on Professor Xavier's shoulder. Charles Xavier was oblivious to his student's concern.

"That's impossible," Xavier murmured into the phone. "Ororo, are you positive? Of course, it just sounds so… unreal. I'll send Scott immediately."

"Herr Professor, are you alright?" Kurt asked.

Professor Xavier set the trembling receiver down and stared holes into the wall. "That was news from Cairo," he said weakly.

* * *

Hank gathered the Twinkie wrappers into a pile and brushed the clutter into a wastebasket. He opened the drawer to his desk and pulled out a fresh Twinkie. He supposed that he didn't need to watch his figure, he was the most attractive man on the planet covered with thick swatches of blue fur.

Hank heard a knock on the door and grumbled a"Come in" between the Twinkie in his mouth.

"I'm not disturbing you, am I, mein fruend" Kurt asked as he entered.

The Twinkie grated against Hank's dry throat as he swallowed. So much for being the most attractive man on the planet covered with thick swatches of blue fur, he thought.

"No, I was just moping" Hank replied.

"A package arrived with your name on it." Kurt motioned to the box in his hands. "It's from a Mr. Forge."

"Thank you." Hank collected the package from his friend.

"And showering is not as difficult as it first seems" Kurt advised. "You will get the hang of it."

"Thank you, Kurt" Hank answered crisply.

Kurt grinned. "I'll be on my way now."

Hank ignored Kurt as he exited. Instead, the man used a claw to open his package. Hank chuckled to himself when he noticed that the box tucked between the brown paper was metal and covered with various buttons. As delicately as he could with his newfound thick, clawed fingers, he pressed a button labeled, "Play."

Forge's dry, gravelly voice began to resonate in the room as clearly as if the man had been standing next to Hank.

"Hank, I wanted to thank you for lending me those prostheses to research," Forge began. "They've placed me years ahead of my work. As a token of my gratitude, I've enclosed inside this box something I like to call an 'image inducer.' I heard about what happened to you and hopefully this will ease your suffering."

The message ended with a quiet beep and once again the room was empty save for Hank. He pressed another button and the box slid open.

"Image inducer, eh?" he murmured as he passed the device over his hands. "Interesting."


End file.
